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SEYMOUR   DURST 


men  you  leave,  please  leave  this  book 

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"^ver  thing  comes  f  him  who  waits 

^^cept  a  loaned  book." 


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Avery  Architectural  and  Fine  Arts  Library 
Gift  of  Seymour  B.  Durst  Old  York  Library 


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"Who  are  you?"  asked  Florence  in  alarm,  "and  what  are 
you  doing  there?  "    Page  28.  Adrift  in  New  York 


Adrift  in  New  York 


OR 


Tom  and  Florence  Braving  the 
World 


By  HORATIO  ALGER,  Jr. 

Author  of  "Mark  Mason's  Victory,"  "Ben  Bruce,'* 
'*  Bernard  Brook's  Adventures/'  "A  Debt  of  Honor," 
etc.,  etc.         ^        ^        ^        ^        ^        J^       jfi 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY,   PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK 


■A3 

JO)t>^ov 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    MISSING    HEIR. 

"Uncle,  you  are  not  looking  well  to-night/' 

'Tm  not  well,  Florence.  I  sometimes  doubt  if  I 
shall  ever  be  any  better." 

"Surely,  uncle,  you  cannot  mean " 

"Yes,  my  child,  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  I 
am  nearing  the  end." 

"I  cannot  bear  to  hear  you  speak  so,  uncle,"  said 
Florence  Linden,  in  irrepressible  agitation.  "You 
are  not  an  old  man.     You  are  but  fifty-four." 

"True,  Florence,  but  it  is  not  years  only  that  make 
a  man  old.  Two  great  sorrows  have  embittered  my 
life.  First,  the  death  of  my  dearly  beloved  wife,  and 
next,  the  loss  of  my  boy,  Harvey." 

"It  is  long  since  I  have  heard  you  refer  to  my 
cousin's  loss.    I  thought  you  had  become  reconciled 


a  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

— no,  I  do  not  mean  that, — I  thought  your  regret 
might  be  less  poignant." 

*1  have  not  permitted  myself  to  speak  of  it,  but  I 
have  never  ceased  to  think  of  it  day  and  night." 
John  Linden  paused  sadly,  then  resumed: 
**If  he  had  died,  I  might,  as  you  say,  have  become 
reconciled;  but  he  was  abducted  at  the  age  of  four 
by  a  revengeful  servant  whom  I  had  discharged 
from  my  employment.  Heaven  knows  whether  he  is 
living  or  dead,  but  it  is  impressed  upon  my  mind  that 
he  still  lives,  it  may  be  in  misery,  it  may  be  as  a  crim- 
inal, while  I,  his  unhappy  father,  live  on  in  luxury 
which   I   cannot  enjoy,   with  no   one  to  care   for 

Florence  Linden  sank  impulsively  on  her  knees  be- 
side her  uncle's  chair. 

"Don't  say  that,  uncle,"  she  pleaded.  "You  know 
that  I  love  you.  Uncle  John." 

"And  I,  too,  uncle." 

There  was  a  shade  of  jeaiousy  in  the  voice  of  Cur- 
tis Waring  as  he  entered  the  library  through  the 
open  door,  and  approaching  his  uncle,  pressed  his 
hand. 

He  was  a  tall,  dark-complexioned  man,  of  perhaps 
thirty-five,  with  shifty,  black  eyes  and  thin  lips, 
shaded  by  a  dark  mustache.  It  was  not  a  face  to 
trust. 

Even  when  he  smiled  the  expression  of  his  face  did 
not  soften.  Yet  he  could  moderate  his  voice  so  as  to 
express  tenderness  and  sympathy. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  3 

He  was  the  son  of  an  elder  sister  of  Mr.  Linden, 
while  Florence  was  the  daughter  of  a  younger 
brother. 

Both  were  orphans,  and  both  formed  a  part  of  Mr. 
Linden's  household,  and  owed  everything  to  his 
bounty. 

Curtis  was  supposed  to  be  in  some  business  down- 
town; but  he  received  a  liberal  allowance  from  his 
uncle,  and  often  drew  upon  him  for  outside  assist- 
ance. 

As  he  stood  with  his  uncle's  hand  in  his,  he  was 
necessarily  Ifrought  near  Florence,  who  instinctively 
drew  a  little  away,  with  a  slight  shudder  indicating 
repugnance. 

Slight  as  it  w^as,  Curtis  detected  it,  and  his  face 
darkened. 

John  Linden  looked  from  one  to  the  other. 

"Yes,''  he  said,  "I  must  not  forget  that  I  have  a 
nephew  and  a  niece.  You  are  both  dear  to  me,  but 
no  one  can  take  the  place  of  the  boy  I  have  lost." 

"But  it  is  so  long  ago,  uncle,"  said  Curtis.  "It 
must  be  fourteen  years." 

"It  is  fourteen  years." 

"And  the  boy  is  long  since  dead!" 

"No,  no !"  said  John  Linden,  vehemently.  "I  do 
not,  I  will  not,  believe  it.  He  still  lives,  and  I  live 
only  in  the  hope  of  one  day  clasping  him  in  my 
arms." 

"That  is  very  improbable,  uncle,"  said  Curtis,  in  a 
tone  of  annoyance.     "There  isn't  one  chance  in  a 


4  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

hundred  that  my  cousin  still  lives.  The  grave  has 
closed  over  him  long  since.  The  sooner  you  make 
up  your  mind  to  accept  the  inevitable  the  better." 

The  drawn  features  of  the  old  man  showed  that 
the  words  had  a  depressing  effect  upon  his  mind,  but 
Florence  interrupted  her  cousin  with  an  indignant 
protest. 

"How  can  you  speak  so,  Curtis?"  she  exclaimed. 
"Leave  Uncle  John  the  hope  that  he  has  so  long 
cherished.  I  have  a  presentiment  that  Harvey  still 
lives." 

John  Linden's  face  brightened  up    ' 

"You,  too,  believe  it  possible,  Florence?"  he  said, 
eagerly. 

"Yes,  uncle.  I  not  only  believe  it  possible,  but 
probable.  How  old  would  Harvey  be  if  he  still 
lived?" 

"Eighteen — nearly  a  year  older  than  yourself." 

"How  strange!  I  always  think  of  him  as  a  little 
boy." 

"And  I,  too,  Florence.  He  rises  before  me  in  his 
little  velvet  suit,  as  he  was  when  I  last  saw  him,  with 
his  sweet,  boyish  face,  in  which  his  mother's  looks 
were  reflected." 

"Yet,  if  still  living,"  interrupted  Curtis,  harshly, 
"he  is  a  rough  street  boy,  perchance  serving  his  time 
at  Blackwell's  Island,  and,  a  hardened  young  ruffian, 
whom  it  would  be  bitter  mortification  to  recognize 
as  your  son." 

"That's  the  sorrowful  part  of  it,"  said  his  uncle, 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  s 

in  a  voice  of  anguish.    ''That  is  what  I  most  dread." 

"Then,  since  even  if  he  were  living  you  would 
not  care  to  recognize  him,  why  not  cease  to  think 
of  him,  or  else  regard  him  as  dead?" 

''Curtis  Waring,  have  you  no  heart?"  dernanded 
Florence,  indignantly. 

"Indeed,  Florence,  you  ought  to  know,"  said  Cur- 
tis, sinking  his  voice  into  softly  modulated  accents. 

"I  know  nothing  of  it,"  said  Florence,  coldly, 
rising  from  her  recumbent  position,  and  drawing 
aloof  from  Curtis. 

"You  know  that  the  dearest  wish  of  my  heart  is 
to  find  favor  in  your  eyes.  Uncle,  you  know  my 
wish,  and  approve  of  it,  do  you  not?" 

"Yes,  Curtis;  you  and  Florence  are  equally  dear 
to  me,  and  it  is  my  hope  that  you  may  be  united.  In 
that  case,  there  will  be  no  division  of  my  fortune.  It 
will  be  left  to  you  jointly." 

"Believe  me,  sir,"  said  Curtis,  with  faltering  voice, 
feigning  an  emotion  which  he  did  not  feel,  "believe 
me,  that  I  fully  appreciate  your  goodness.  I  am  sure 
Florence  joins  with  me " 

"Florence  can  speak  for  herself,"  said  his  cousin, 
coldly.  "My  uncle  needs  no  assurance  from  me. 
He  is  always  kind,  and  I  am  always  grateful." 

John  Linden  seemed  absorbed  in  thought. 

"I  do  not  doubt  your  affection,"  he  said;  "and  I 
have  shown  it  by  making  you  my  joint  heirs  in  the 
event  of  your  marriage;  but  it  is  only  fair  to  say 
that  my  property  goes  to  my  boy,  if  he  still  lives." 


5  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"But,  sir,"  protested  Curtis,  ''is  not  that  likely  to 
create  unnecessary  trouble?  It  can  never  be  known, 
and  meanwhile " 

''You  and  Florence  will  hold  the  property  in 
trust." 

"Have  you  so  specified  in  your  will?"  asked  Cur- 
tis. 

"I  have  made  two  wills.  Both  are  in  yonder  sec- 
retary. By  the  first  the  property  is  bequeathed  to 
you  and  Florence.  By  the  second  and  later,  it  goes 
to  my  lost  boy  in  the  event  of  his  recovery.  Of 
course,  you  and  Florence  are  not  forgotten,  but  the 
bulk  of  the  property  goes  to  Harvey." 

"I  sincerely  wish  the  boy  might  be  restored  to 
you,"  said  Curtis ;  but  his  tone  belied  his  words.  "Be- 
lieve me,  the  loss  of  the  property  would  affect  me 
little,  if  you  could  be  made  happy  by  realizing  your 
warmest  desire;  but,  uncle,  I  think  it  only  the  part 
c^  a  friend  to  point  out  to  you,  as  I  have  already 
done,  the  baselessness  of  any  such  expectation." 

"It  may  be  as  you  say,  Curtis,"  said  his  uncle, 
with  a  sigh.  "If  I  were  thoroughly  convinced  of  it, 
I  would  destroy  the  later  will,  and  leave  my  prop- 
erty absolutely  to  you  and  Florence." 

"No,  uncle,"  said  Florence,  impulsively,  "make 
no  change;  let  the  will  stand." 

Curtis,  screened  from  his  uncle's  view,  darted 
a  glance  of  bitter  indignation  at  Florence. 

"Is  the  girl  mad  ?"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "Must 
she  forever  balk  me?" 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  7 

''Let  it  be  so  for  the  present,  then,"  said  Mr.  Lin- 
den, wearily.  'Curtis,  will  you  ring  the  bell?  I 
am  tired,  and  shall  retire  to  my  couch  early." 

"Let  me  help  you.  Uncle  John,"  said  Florence, 
eagerly. 

"It  is  too  much  for  your  strength,  my  child.  I  am 
growing  more  and  more  helpless." 

"I,  too,  can  help,"  said  Curtis. 

John  Linden,  supported  on  either  side  by  his 
nephew  and  niece,  left  the  room,  and  was  assiscv.  : 
to  his  chamber. 

Curtis  and  Florence  returned  to  the  library. 

"Florence,"  said  her  cousin,  "my  uncle's  inten- 
tions, as  expressed  to-night,  make  it  desirable  that 
there  should  be  an  understanding  between  us.  Take 
a  seat  beside  me" — leading  her  to  a  sofa — "and  let 
us  talk  this  matter  over." 

With  a  gesture  of  repulsion  Florence  declined  the 
profTered  seat,  and  remained  standing. 

"As  you  please,"  she  answered,  coldly. 

"Will  you  be  seated?" 

"No;  our  interview  will  be  brief." 

"Then  I  will  come  to  the  point.  Uncle  John  wishes 
to  see  us  united." 

"It  can  never  be !"  said  Florence,  decidedly. 

Curtis  bit  his  lip  in  mortification,  for  her  tone  was 
cold  and  scornful. 

Mingled  with  this  mortification  was  genuine  re- 
gret, for,  so  far  as  he  was  capable  of  loving  any  one, 
he  loved  his  fair  young  cousin. 


8  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"You  profess  to  love  Uncle  John,  and  yet  you 
would  disappoint  his  cherished  hope !"  he  returned. 

"Is  it  his  cherished  hope?" 

"There  is  no  doubt  about  it.  He  has  spoken  to  me 
more  than  once  on  the  subject.  Feeling  that  his 
end  is  near,  he  wishes  to  leave  you  in  charge  of  a 
protector." 

"I  can  protect  myself,"  said  Florence,  proudly. 

"You  think  so.  You  do  not  consider  the  hapless 
lot  of  a  penniless  girl  in  a  cold  and  selfish  world." 

"Penniless?"  repeated  Florence,  in  an  accent  of 
surprise. 

"Yes,  penniless.  Our  uncle's  bequest  to  you  is 
conditional  upon  your  acceptance  of  my  hand." 

"Has  he  said  this?"  asked  Florence,  sinking  into 
an  armchair,  with  a  helpless  look. 

"He  has  told  me  so  more  than  once,"  returned 
Curtis,  smoothly.  "You  don't  know  how  near  to 
his  heart  this  marriage  is.  I  know  what  you  would 
say:  If  the  property  comes  to  me  I  could  come  to 
your  assistance,  but  I  am  expressly  prohibited  from 
doing  so.  I  have  pleaded  with  my  uncle  in  your 
behalf,  but  in  vain." 

Florence  was  too  clear-sighted  not  to  penetrate 
his  falsehood. 

"If  my  uncle's  heart  is  hardened  against  me,"  she 
said,  "I  shall  be  too  wise  to  turn  to  you.  I  am  to 
understand,  then,  that  my  choice  lies  between  pov- 
erty and  a  union  with  you?" 

"You  have  stated  it  correctly,  Florence." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  9 

"Then,"  said  Florence,  arising,  "I  will  not  hesi- 
tate. I  shrink  from  poverty,  for  I  have  been  reared 
in  luxury,  but  I  will  sooner  live  in  a  hovel " 

''Or  a  tenement  house,"  interjected  Curtis,  with  a 
sneer. 

''Yes,  or  a  tenement  house,  than  become  the  wife 
of  one  I  loathe." 

"Girl,  you  shall  bitterly  repent  that  word!"  said 
Curtis,  stung  to  fury. 

She  did  not  reply,  but,  pale  and  sorrowful,  glided 
from  the  room  to  weep  bitter  tears  in  the  seclusion 
of  her  chamber. 


lo  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 


CHAPTER  XL 


A    STRANGER    VISITOR. 


Curtis  Waring  followed  the  retreating  form  of 
his  cousin  with  a  sardonic  smile. 

"She  is  in  the  toils!  She  cannot  escape  me!''  he 
muttered.  "But" — and  here  his  brow  darkened — 
"it  vexes  me  to  see  how  she  repels  my  advances,  as 
if  I  were  some  loathsome  thing !  If  only  she  would 
return  my  love — for  I  do  love  her,  cold  as  she  is — I 
should  be  happy.  Can  there  be  a  rival?  But  no! 
we  live  so  quietly  that  she  has  met  no  one  who  could 
win  her  affection.  Why  can  she  not  turn  to  me? 
Surely,  I  am  not  so  ill-favored,  and  though  twice 
her  age,  I  am  still  a  young  man.  Nay,  it  is  only 
a  young  girl's  caprice.  She  shall  yet  come  to  my 
arms,  a  willing  captive." 

His  thoughts  took  a  turn,  as  he  arose  from  his 
seat,  and  walked  over  to  the  secretary. 

"So  it  is  here  that  the  two  wills  are  deposited!" 
he  said  to  him.self ;  "one  making  me  a  rich  man,  the 
other  a  beggar!  While  the  last  is  in  existence  I  am 
not  safe.  The  boy  may  be  alive,  and  liable  to  turn 
up  at  any  moment.     If  only  he  were  dead — or  the 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  ii 

will  destroyed "     Here  he  made  a  suggestive 

pause. 

He  took  a  bunch  of  keys  from  his  pocket,  and 
tried  one  after  another,  but  without  success.  He 
was  so  absorbed  in  his  work  that  he  did  not  notice 
the  entrance  of  a  dark-browed,  broad-shouldered 
man,  dressed  in  a  shabby  corduroy  suit,  till  the  intru- 
der indulged  in  a  short  cough,  intended  to  draw  at- 
tention. 

Starting  with  guilty  consciousness,  Curtis  turned 
sharply  around,  and  his  glance  fell  on  the  intruder. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  demanded,  angrily.  *'And 
how  dare  you  enter  a  gentleman's  house  unbidden?" 

''Are  you  the  gentleman  ?"  asked  the  intruder,  with 
intentional  insolence. 

''Yes." 

"You  own  this  house?" 

"Not  at  present.     It  is  my  uncle's." 

"And  that  secretary — pardon  my  curiosity — is 
his?" 

"Yes;  but  what  business  is  it  of  yours?" 

"Not  much.  Only  it  makes  me  laugh  to  see  a 
gentleman  picking  a  lock.  You  should  leave  such 
business  to  men  like  me!" 

"You  are  an  insolent  fellow!"  said  Curtis,  more 
embarrassed  than  he  liked  to  confess,  for  this  rough- 
looking  man  had  becomxC  possessed  of  a  dangerous 
secret.  "I  am  my  uncle's  confidential  agent,  and  it 
was  on  business  of  his  that  I  wished  to  open  the 
desk." 


12  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

*'Why  not  go  to  him  for  the  key?" 

"Because  he  is  sick.  But,  pshaw!  why  should 
I  apologize  or  give  any  explanation  to  you?  What 
can  you  know  of  him  or  me  ?" 

''More,  perhaps,  than  you  suspect/'  said  the  in- 
truder, quietly. 

"Then,  you  know,  perhaps,  that  I  am  my  uncle's 
heir?" 

"Don't  be  too  sure  of  that." 

"Look  here,  fellow,"  said  Curtis,  thoroughly  pro- 
voked, "I  don't  know  who  you  are  nor  what  you 
mean,  but  let  me  inform  you  that  your  presence 
here  is  an  intrusion,  and  the  sooner  you  leave  the 
house  the  better!" 

"I  will  leave  it  when  I  get  ready." 

Curtis  started  to  his  feet,  and  advanced  to  his  visi- 
tor with  an  air  of  menace. 

"Go  at  once,"  he  exclaimed,  angrily,  "or  I  will 
kick  you  out  of  the  door !" 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  window?"  returned 
the  stranger,  with  an  insolent  leer. 

"That's  as  you  prefer,  but  if  you  don't  leave  at 
once  I  will  eject  you." 

By  way  of  reply,  the  rough  visitor  coolly  seated 
himself  in  a  luxurious  easy-chair,  and,  looking  up 
into  the  angry  face  of  Waring,  said : 

"Oh,  no,  you  won't." 

"And  why  not,  may  I  ask?"  said  Curtis,  with  a 
feeling  of  uneasiness  for  which  he  could  not  ac- 
count. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  13 

"Why  not?  Because,  in  that  case,  I  should  seek 
an  interview  with  your  uncle,  and  tell  him " 

"What?" 

"That  his  son  still  lives;  and  that  I  can  restore 
him  to  his " 

The  face  of  Curtis  Waring  blanched;  he  stag- 
gered as  if  he  had  been  struck;  and  he  cried  out, 
hoarsely : 

"It  is  a  lie!" 

"It  is  the  truth,  begging  your  pardon.  Do  you 
mind  my  smoking?"  and  he  coolly  produced  a  com- 
mon clay  pipe,  filled  and  lighted  it. 

"Who  are  you?"  asked  Curtis,  scanning  the  man's 
features  with  painful  anxiety. 

"Have  you  forgotten  Tim  Bolton?" 

"Are  you  Tim  Bolton?"  faltered  Curtis. 

"Yes;  but  you  don't  seem  glad  to  see  me?" 

"I  thought  you  were " 

"In  Australia.  So  I  was  three  years  since.  Then 
I  got  homesick,  and  came  back  to  New  York." 

"You  have  been  here  three  years?" 

"Yes,"  chuckled  Bolton.  "You  didn't  suspect  it, 
did  you?" 

"Where?"  asked  Curtis,  in  a  hollow  voice. 

"I  keep  a  saloon  on  the  Bowery.  There's  my 
card.     Call  around  when  convenient." 

Curtis  was  about  to  throw  the  card  into  the  grate, 
but  on  second  thought  dropped  it  into  his  pocket. 

"And  the  boy?"  he  asked,  slowly. 

"Is   alive   and    well.      He   hasn't   been   starved. 


14  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

Though  I  dare  say  you  wouldn't  have  grieved  if  he 
had." 

"And  he  is  actually  in  this  city?" 

"Just  so." 

"Does  he  know  anything  of — ^you  know  what  I 
mean." 

"He  doesn't  know  that  he  is  the  son  of  a  rich 
man,  and  heir  to  the  property  which  you  look  upon 
as  yours.    That's  what  you  mean,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes.    What  is  he  doing?    Is  he  at  work?" 

"He  helps  me  some  in  the  saloon,  sells  papers  in 
the  evenings,  and  makes  himself  generally  useful." 

"Has  he  any  education?" 

"Well,  I  haven't  sent  him  to  boarding  school  or 
college,"  answered  Tim.  "He  don't  know  no  Greek, 
or  Latin,  or  mathematics — phew,  that's  a  hard  word. 
You  didn't  tell  me  you  wanted  him  made  a  scholar 
of." 

"I  didn't.  I  wanted  never  to  see  or  hear  from 
him  again.  What  made  you  bring  him  back  to  New 
York?" 

"Couldn't  keep  away,  governor.  I  got  home- 
sick, I  did.  There  ain't  but  one  Bowery  in  the  world, 
and  I  hankered  after  that " 

"Didn't  I  pay  you  money  to  keep  away,  Tim  Bol- 
ton?" 

"I  don't  deny  it;  but  what's  three  thousand  dol- 
lars? Why,  the  kid's  cost  me  more  than  that.  I've 
had  the  care  of  him  for  fourteen  years,  and  it's  only 
about  two  hundred  a  year." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  15 

"You  nave  broken  your  promise  to  me  !'*  said  Cur- 
tis, sternly. 

"There's  worse  things  than  breaking  your  prom- 
ise/' retorted  Bolton. 

Scarcely  had  he  spoken  than  a  change  came  over 
his  face,  and  he  stared  open-mouthed  behind  him  and 
beyond  Curtis. 

Startled  himself,  Curtis  turned,  and  saw,  with  a 
feeling  akin  to  dismay,  the  tall  figure  of  his  uncle 
standing  on  the  threshold  of  the  left  portal,  clad 
in  a  morning  gown,  with  his  eyes  fixed  inquiringly 
upon  Bolton  and  himself. 


1 6  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 


CHAPTER   HI. 


AN    UNHOLY     COMPACT. 


"Who  is  that  man,  Curtis?"  asked  John  Linden, 
pointing  his  thin  finger  at  Tim  Bolton,  who  looked 
strangely  out  of  place,  as,  with  clay  pipe,  he  sat  in 
the  luxurious  library  on  a  sumptuous  chair. 

"That  man?''  stammered  Curtis,  quite  at  a  loss 
what  to  say. 

"Yes." 

"He  is  a  poor  man  out  of  luck,  who  has  applied 
to  me  for  assistance,"  answered  Curtis,  recovering 
his  wits. 

"That's  it,  governor,"  said  Bolton,  thinking  it 
necessary  to  confirm  the  statement.  "I've  got  five 
small  children  at  home  almost  starvin',  your  honor." 

"That  is  sad.    What  is  your  business,  my  man?" 

It  was  Bolton's  turn  to  be  embarrassed. 

"My  business?"  he  repeated. 

"That  is  what  I  said." 

"Fm  a  blacksmith,  but  I'm  willing  to  do  any 
honest  work." 

"That  is  commendable;  but  don't  you  know  that 
it  is  very  ill-bred  to  smoke  a  pipe  in  a  gentleman's 
house?" 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  17 

"Excuse  me,  governor!" 

And  Bolton  extinguished  his  pipe,  and  put  it  away 
in  a  pocket  of  his  corduroy  coat. 

''I  was  just  telling  him  the  same  thing,"  said 
Curtis.  *'Don't  trouble  yourself  any  further,  uncle. 
I  will  inquire  into  the  man's  circumstances,  and  help 
him  if  I  can." 

"Very  well,  Curtis.  I  came  down  because  I 
thought  I  heard  voices." 

John  Linden  slowly  returned  to  his  chamber,  and 
left  the  two  alone. 

"The  governor's  getting  old,"  said  Bolton.  "When 
I  was  butler  here,  fifteen  years  ago,  he  looked  like 
a  young  man.  He  didn't  suspect  that  he  had  ever 
seen  me  before." 

"Nor  that  you  had  carried  away  his  son,  Bolton." 

"Who  hired  me  to  do  it?  Who  put  me  up  to  the 
job,  as  far  as  that  goes?" 

"Hush !  Walls  have  ears.  Let  us  return  to  busi- 
ness." 

"That  suits  me." 

"Look  here,  Tim  Bolton,"  said  Curtis,  drawing  up 
a  chair,  and  lowering  his  voice  to  a  confidential  pitch, 
"you  say  you  want  money?" 

"Of  course  I  do." 

"Well,  I  don't  give  money  for  nothing." 

"I  know  that.     What's  wanted  now?" 

"You  say  the  boy  is  alive?'* 

"He's  very  much  alive." 

"Is  there  any  necessity   for  his  living?"  asked 


1 8  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

Curtis,  in  a  sharp,  hissing  tone,  fixing  his  eyes 
searchingly  on  Bolton,  to  see  how  his  hint  would  be 
taken. 

"You  mean  that  you  want  me  to  murder  him?" 
said  Bolton,  quickly. 

**Why  not?    You  don't  look  over  scrupulous." 

"I  am  a  bad  man,  I  admit  it,"  said  Bolton,  with 
a  gesture  of  repugnance,  *'a  thief,  a  low  blackguard, 
perhaps,  but,  thank  Heaven !  I  am  no  murderer !  And 
if  I  was,  I  wouldn't  spill  a  drop  of  that  boy's  blood 
for  the  fortune  that  is  his  by  right." 

"I  didn't  give  you  credit  for  so  much  sentiment, 
Bolton,"  said  Curtis,  with  a  sneer.  "You  don't  look 
like  it,  but  appearances  are  deceitful.  We'll  drop  the 
subject.  You  can  serve  me  in  another  way.  Can 
you  open  this  secretary?" 

"Yes;  that's  in  my  line." 

"There  is  a  paper  in  it  that  I  want.  It  is  my 
uncle's  will.     I  have  a  curiosity  to  read  it." 

"I  understand.     Well,  I'm  agreeable." 

'If  you  find  any  money  or  valuables,  you  are  wel- 
come to  them.  I  only  want  the  paper.  When  will 
you  make  the  attempt?" 

"To-morrow  night.     When  will  it  be  safe?" 

'At  eleven  o'clock.  We  all  retire  early  in  this 
house.    Can  you  force  an  entrance?" 

"Yes;  but  it  will  be  better  for  you  to  leave  the 
outer  door  unlocked." 

"I  have  a  better  plan.  •  Here  is  my  latchkey." 

"Good!    I  may  not  do  the  job  myself,  but  I  will 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  19 

see  that  it  is  done.     How  shall  I  know  the  will?'* 
*'It  is  in  a  big  envelope,  tied  with  a  narrow  tape. 
Probably  it  is  inscribed :  'My  will.'  " 

"Suppose  I  succeed,  when  shall  I  see  you?" 
"I  will  come  around  to  your  place  on  the  Bowery. 
Good-night !" 

Curtis  Waring  saw  Bolton  to  the  door,  and  let 
him  out.     Returning,  he  flung  himself  on  a  sofa. 

"I  can  make  that  man  useful!"  he  reflected. 
*There  is  an  element  of  danger  in  the  boy's  presence 
in  New  York;  but  it  will  go  hard  if  I  can't  get  rid 
of  him !  Tim  Bolton  is  unexpectedly  squeamish,  but 
there  are  others  to  whom  I  can  apply.  With  gold 
everything  is  possible.  It's  time  matters  came  to  a 
finish.  My  uncle's  health  is  rapidly  failing — the  doc- 
tor hints  that  he  has  heart  disease — and  the  fortune 
for  which  I  have  been  waiting  so  long  will  soon  be 
mine,  if  I  work  my  cards  right.  I  can't  afford  to 
make  any  mistakes  now." 


20  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

FLORENCE. 

Florence  Linden  sat  in  the  library  the  following 
evening  in  an  attitude  of  depression.  Her  eyelids 
were  swollen,  and  it  was  evident  she  had  been  weep- 
ing. During  the  day  she  had  had  an  interview  with 
her  uncle,  in  which  he  harshly  insisted  upon  her 
yielding  to  his  wishes,  and  marrying  her  cousin,  Cui^- 
tis. 

*'But,  uncle,"  she  objected,  '*I  do  not  love  him," 

"Marry  him,  and  love  will  come." 

"Never!"  she  said,  vehemently. 

"You  speak  confidently,  miss,"  said  Mr.  Linden, 
with  irritation. 

"Listen,  Uncle  John.  It  is  not  alone  that  I  do 
not  love  him.    I  dislike  him — I  loathe — him." 

"Nonsense!  that  is  a  young  girl's  extravp.gant 
nonsense." 

"No,  uncle." 

"There  can  be  no  reason  for  such  a  foolish  dislike. 
What  can  you  have  against  him?" 

"It  is  impressed  upon  me,  uncle,  that  Curtis  is  a 
bad  man.  There  is  something  false — treacherous — 
about  him." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  21 

"Pooh !  child !  you  are  more  foolish  than  I  thought. 
I  don't  say  Curtis  is  an  angel.  No  man  is ;  at  least, 
I  never  met  any  such.  But  he  is  no  worse  than  the 
generality  of  men.  In  marrying  him  you  will  carry 
out  my  cherished  wish.  Florence,  I  have  not  long  to 
live.  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  well  established  in 
life  before  I  leave  you.  As  the  wife  of  Curtis  you 
will  have  a  recognized  position.  You  will  go  on  liv- 
ing in  this  house,  and  the  old  home  will  be  main- 
tained." 

"But  why  is  it  necessary  for  me  to  marry  at  all, 
Uncle  John?" 

"You  will  be  sure  to  marry  some  one.  Should 
I  divide  my  fortune  between  you  and  Curtis,  you 
would  become  the  prey  of  some  unscrupulous  fortune 
hunter." 

"Better  that  than  become  the  wife  of  Curtis  War- 
ing—" 

"I  see^  you  are  incorrigible,"  said  her  uncle,  an- 
grily.    "Do  you  refuse  obedience  to  my  wishes?" 

"Command  me  in  anything  else.  Uncle  John,  and 
I  will  obey,"  pleaded  Florence. 

"Indeed!  You  only  thwart  me  in  my  cherished 
wish,  but  are  willing  to  obey  me  in  unimportant 
matters.    You  forget  the  debt  you  owe  me." 

"I  forget  nothing,  dear  uncle.  I  do  not  forget 
that,  when  I  was  a  poor  little  child,  helpless  and  desti- 
tute, you  took  me  in  your  arms,  gave  me  a  home,  and 
have  cared  for  me  from  that  time  to  this  as  only  a 
parent  could." 


22  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"You  remember  that,  then?'* 

"Yes,  uncle.  I  hope  you  will  not  consider  me 
wholly  ungrateful.'* 

"It  only  makes  matters  worse.  You  own  your  ob- 
ligations, yet  refuse  to  make  the  only  return  I  de- 
sire. You  refuse  to  comfort  me  in  the  closing  days 
of  my  life  by  marrying  your  cousin." 

"Because  that  so  nearly  concerns  my  happiness 
that  no  one  has  a  right  to  ask  me  to  sacrifice  all  I 
hold  dear." 

"I  see  you  are  incorrigible,"  said  John  Linden, 
stormily.  "Do  you  know  what  will  be  the  conse- 
quences?" 

"I  am  prepared  for  all.'* 

"Then  listen !  If  you  persist  in  balking  me,  I  shall 
leave  the  entire  estate  to  Curtis." 

"Do  with  your  money  as  you  will,  uncle.  I  have 
no  claim  to  more  than  I  have  received." 

"You  are  right  there;  but  that  is  not  all." 

Florence  fixed  upon  him  a  mute  look  of  inquiry. 

"I  will  give  you  twenty-four  hours  more  to  come 
to  your  senses.  Then,  if  you  persist  in  your  ingrati- 
tude and  disobedience,  you  must  find  another  home." 

"Oh,  uncle,  you  do  not  mean  that?"  exclaimed 
Florence,  deeply  moved. 

"I  do  mean  it,  and  I  shall  not  allow  your  tears  to 
move  me.  Not  another  word,  for  I  will  not  hear  it. 
Take  twenty-four  hours  to  think  over  what  I  have 
said." 

Florence  bowed  her  head  on  her  hands,  and  gave 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  23 

herself  up  to  sorrowful  thoughts.  But  she  was  in- 
terrupted by  the  entrance  of  the  servant,  who  an- 
nounced : 

"Mr.  Percy  de  Brabazon." 

An  effeminate-looking  young  man,  foppishly 
dressed,  followed  the  servant  into  the  room,  and 
made  it  impossible  for  Florence  to  deny  herself,  as 
she  wished  to  do. 

"I  hope  I  see  you  well.  Miss  Florence,"  he  sim- 
pered. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  de  Brabazon,"  said  Florence, 
coldly.     "I  have  a  slight  headache." 

"I  am  awfully  sorry,  I  am,  upon  my  word.  Miss 
Florence.  My  doctor  tells  me  it  is  only  those  whose 
bwains  are  vewy  active  that  are  troubled  with  head- 
aches." 

"Then,  I  presume,  Mr.  de  Brabazon,"  said  Flor- 
ence, with  intentional  sarcasm,  "that  you  never  have 
a  headache." 

"Weally,  Miss  Florence,  that  is  vewy  clevah.  You 
will  have  your  joke." 

"It  was  no  joke,  I  assure  you,  Mr.  de  Brabazon." 

"I — I  thought  it  might  be.  Didn't  I  see  you  at  the 
opewa  last  evening?" 

"Possibly.    I  was  there." 

"I  often  go  to  the  opewa.  It's  so — so  fashionable, 
don't  you  know?" 

"Then  you  don't  go  to  hear  the  music?" 

"Oh,  of  course,  but  one  can't  always  be  listening 
to  the  music,  don't  you  know.    I  had  a  fwiend  with 


24  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

me  last  evening — an  Englishman — a  charming  fel- 
low, I  assure  you.  He's  the  second  cousin  of  a  lord, 
and  yet — you'll  hardly  credit  it — we're  weally  vewy 
intimate.  He  tells  me.  Miss  Florence,  that  Fm  the 
perfect  image  of  his  cousin,  Lord  Fitz  Noodle." 

''I  am  not  at  all  surprised." 

''Weally,  you  are  vewy  kind.  Miss  Florence.  I 
thought  it  a  great  compliment.  I  don't  know  how  it 
is,  but  evewybody  takes  me  for  an  Englishman. 
Strange,  isn't  it?" 

"I  am  very  glad." 

*'May  I  ask  why,  Miss  Florence?" 

"Because Well,  perhaps  I  had  better  not  ex- 
plain. It  seems  to  give  you  pleasure.  You  would, 
probably,  prefer  to  be  an  Englishman." 

"I  admit  that  I  have  a  great  admiration  for  the 
English  character.  It's  a  gweat  pity  we  have  no 
lords  in  America.  Now,  if  you  would  only  allow 
me  to  bring  my  English  fwiend  here '* 

'I  don't  care  to  make  any  new  acquaintances.  Even 
if  I  did,  I  prefer  my  own  countrymen.  Don't  you 
like  America,  Mr.  de  Brabazon?" 

"Oh,  of  courth,  if  we  only  had  some  lords  here." 

"We  have  plenty  of  flunkeys." 

"That's  awfully  clevah,  'pon  my  wo^d  " 

"Is  it?  I  am  afraid  you  are  too  complimentary. 
You  are  very  good-natured." 

"I  always  feel  good-natured  in  your  company, 
Miss  Florence.  I — wish  I  could  always  be  with 
you." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  25 

^'Really!  Wouldn't  that  be  a  trifle  monotonous?" 
asked  Florence,  sarcastically. 

''Not  if  we  were  married,"  saiii  Percy,  boldly 
breaking  the  ice. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  de  Brabazon?" 

**I  hope  you  will  excuse  me,  Miss  Florence — Miss 
Linden,  I  mean;  but  I'm  awfully  in  love  with  you, 
and  have  been  ever  so  long — but  I  never  dared  to 
tell  you  so.  I  felt  so  nervous,  don't  you  know? 
Will  you  marry  me?  I'll  be  awfully  obliged  if  you 
will." 

Mr.  de  Brabazon  rather  awkwardly  slipped  from 
his  chair,  and  sank  on  one  knee  before  Florence. 

'Tlease  arise,  Mr.  de  Brabazon,"  said  Florence, 
hurriedly.  "It  is  quite  out  of  the  question — what 
you  ask — I  assure  you." 

"Ah!  I  see  how  it  is,"  said  Percy,  clasping  his 
hands  sadly.     "You  love  another." 

"Not  that  I  am  aware  of." 

"Then  I  may  still  hope?" 

"I  cannot  encourage  you,  Mr.  de  Brabazon.  My 
heart  is  free^  but  it  can  never  be  yours." 

"Then,"  said  Percy,  gloomily,  "there  is  only  one 
thing  for  me  to  do." 

"What  is  that?" 

"I  shall  go  to  the  Bwooklyn  Bwidge,  climb  to  the 
parapet,  jump  into  the  water,  and  end  my  misewable 
life." 

"You  had  better  think  twice  before  adopting  such 
a  desperate  resolution,  Mr.  de  Brabazon.    You  will 


26  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

meet  others  who  will  be  kinder  to  you  than  I  have 
been " 

"I  can  never  love  another.  My  heart  is  broken. 
Farewell,  cruel  girl.  When  you  read  the  papers  to- 
morrow morning,  think  of  the  unhappy  Percy  de 
Brabazon !" 

Mr.  de  Brabazon  folded  his  arms  gloomily,  and 
stalked  out  of  the  room. 

*'If  my  position  were  not  so  sad,  I  should  be 
tempted  to  smile,"  said  Florence.  *'Mr.  de  Brabazon 
will  not  do  this  thing.  His  emotions  are  as  strong 
as  those  of  a  butterfly." 

After  a  brief  pause  Florence  seated  herself  at  the 
table,  and  drew  toward  her  writing  materials. 

*'It  is  I  whose  heart  should  be  broken !"  she  mur- 
mured; "I  who  am  driven  from  the  only  home  I 
have  ever  known.  What  can  have  turned  against 
me  my  uncle,  usually  so  kind  and  considerate?  It 
must  be  that  Curtis  has  exerted  a  baneful  influence 
upon  him.  I  cannot  leave  him  without  one  word  of 
farewell." 

She  took  up  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  wTote,  rapidly : 

"Dear  Uncle  :  You  have  told  me  to  leave  your 
house,  and  I  obey.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  sad  I  feel, 
when  I  reflect  that  I  have  lost  your  love,  and  must 
go  forth  among  strangers — I  know  not  where.  I 
was  but  a  little  girl  when  you  gave  me  a  home.  I 
have  grown  up  in  an  atmosphere  of  love,  and  I  have 
felt  very  grateful  to  you  for  all  you  have  done  for 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  27 

me.  I  have  tried  to  conform  to  your  wishes,  and  I 
vvould  obey  you  in  all  else — but  I  cannot  marry  Cur- 
tis ;  I  think  I  would  rather  die.  Let  me  still  live  with 
you  as  I  have  done.  I  do  not  care  for  any  part  of 
your  money — leave  it  all  to  him,  if  you  think  best — 
but  give  me  back  m.y  place  in  your  heart.  You  are 
angry  now,  but  you  will  some  time  pity  and  forgive 
your  poor  Florence,  who  will  never  cease  to  bless 
and  pray  for  you.     Good-bye! 

"Florence." 

She  was  about  to  sign  herself  Florence  Linden, 
but  reflected  that  she  was  no  longer  entitled  to  use 
a  name  which  would  seem  to  carry  with  it  a  claim 
upon  her  uncle. 

The  tears  fell  upon  the  paper  as  she  was  writing, 
but  she  heeded  them  not.  It  was  the  saddest  hour  of 
her  life.  Hitherto  she  had  been  shielded  from  all 
sorrow,  and  secure  in  the  affection  of  her  uncle,  had 
never  dreamed  that  there  would  come  a  time  when 
she  would  feel  obliged  to  leave  all  behind  her,  and 
go  out  into  the  world,  friendless  and  penniless,  but 
poorest  of  all  in  the  loss  of  that  love  which  she  had 
hitherto  enjoyed. 

After  completing  the  note,  Florence  let  her  head 
fall  upon  the  table,  and  sobbed  herself  to  sleep. 

An  hour  and  a  half  passed,  the  servant  looked  in, 
but  noticing  that  her  mistress  was  sleeping,  contented 
herself  with  lowering  the  gas,  but  refrained  from 
waking  her. 


28  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

And  so  she  slept  on  till  the  French  clock  upon  the 
mantle  struck  eleven. 

Five  minutes  later  and  the  door  of  the  room  slowly 
opened,  and  a  boy  entered  on  tiptoe.  He  was  rough- 
ly dressed.  His  figure  was  manly  and  vigorous,  and 
despite  his  stealthy  step  and  suspicious  movements 
his  face  was  prepossessing. 

He  started  when  he  saw  Florence. 

"What,  a  sleeping  gal !"  he  said  to  himself.  "Tim 
told  me  I'd  find  the  coast  clear,  but  I  guess  she's 
sound  asleep,  and  won't  hear  nothing.  I  don't  half 
like  this  job,  but  I've  got  to  do  as  Tim  told  me.  He 
says  he's  my  father,  so  I  s'pose  it's  all  right.  All 
the  same,  I  shall  be  nabbed  some  day,  and  then  the 
family'll  be  disgraced.  It's  a  queer  life  I've  led  ever 
since  I  can  remember.  Sometimes  I  feel  like  leaving 
Tim,  and  settin'  up  for  myself.  I  wonder  how 
'twould  seem  to  be  respectable." 

The  boy  approached  the  secretary,  and  with  some 
tools  he  had  brought  essayed  to  open  it.  After  a 
brief  delay  he  succeeded,  and  lifted  the  cover.  He 
was  about  to  explore  it,  according  to  Tim's  direc- 
tions, when  he  heard  a  cry  of  fear,  and  turning  swift- 
ly saw  Florence,  her  eyes  dilated  with  terror,  gazing 
at  him. 

"Who  are  you?"  she  asked  in  alarm,  "and  what 
are  you  doing  there?" 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  29 


CHAPTER  V. 

DODGER. 

The  boy  sprang  to  the  side  of  Florence,  and 
siezed  her  wrists  in  his  strong  young  grasp. 

"Don't    you    alarm    the    house/'    he    said,    "or 

rii " 

"What  will  you  do?"  gasped  Florence,  in  alarm. 

The  boy  was  evidently  softened  by  her  beauty, 
and  answered  in  a  tone  of  hesitation : 

"I  don't  know.  I  won't  harm  you  if  you  keep 
quiet." 

"What  are  you  here  for?''  asked  Florence,  fixing 
her  eyes  on  the  boy's  face;  "are  you  a  thief?" 

"I  don't  know — yes,  I  suppose  I  am." 

"How  sad,  when  you  are  so  young." 

"What!  miss,  do  you  pity  me?" 

"Yes,  my  poor  boy ,  you  must  be  very  poor,  or  you 
wouldn't  bring  yourself  to  steal." 

"No.  I  ain't  poor;  leastways,  I  have  enough  to 
eat,  and  I  have  a  place  to  sleep." 

"Then  why  don't  you  earn  your  living  by  honest 
means?" 

"I  can't;  I  must  obey  orders." 


30  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"Whose  orders?" 

"Why,  the  guv'nor's,  to  be  sure." 

"Did  he  tell  you  to  open  that  secretary?" 

"Yes." 

"Who  is  the  guv'nor,  as  you  call  him?" 

"I  can't  tell;  it  wouldn't  be  square." 

"He  must  be  a  very  wicked  man.'' 

"Well,  he  ain't  exactly  what  you  call  an  angel, 
but  I've  seen  wuss  men  than  the  guv'nor." 

"Do  you  mind  telling  me  your  own  name?" 

"No;  for  I  know  you  won't  peach  on  me.  Tom 
Dodger." 

"Dodger?" 

"Yes." 

"That  isn't  a  surname." 

"It's  all  I've  got.    That's  what  I'm  always  called." 

"It  is  very  singular,"  said  Florence,  fixing  a 
glance  of  mingled  curiosity  and  perplexity  upon  the 
young  visitor. 

While  the  two  were  earnestly  conversing  in  that 
subdued  light,  afforded  by  the  lowered  gaslight,  Tim 
Bolton  crept  in  through  the  door  unobserved  by 
either,  tiptoed  across  the  room  to  the  secretary, 
snatched  the  will  and  a  roll  of  bills,  and  escaped  with- 
out attracting  attention. 

"Oh,  I  wish  I  could  persuade  you  to  give  up  this 
bad  life,"  resumed  Florence,  earnestly,  "and  become 
honest." 

"Do  you  really  care  what  becomes  of  me,  miss?" 
asked  Dodger,  slowly. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  31 

**I  do,  indeed.' 

'That's  very  kind  of  you  miss;  but  I  don't  un- 
derstand it.  You  are  a  rich  young  lady,  and  Frn 
only  a  poor  boy,  livin'  in  a  Bowery  dive." 

"What's  that?" 

"Never  mind,  miss,  such  as  you  wouldn't  under- 
stand. Why,  all  my  life  I've  lived  with  thieves,  and 
drunkards,  and  bunco  men,  and " 

"But  I'm  sure  you  don't  like  it.  You  are  fit 
for  something  better." 

"Do  you  really  think  so?"  asked  Dodger,  doubt- 
fullly. 

"Yes;  you  have  a  good  face.  You  were  meant 
to  be  good  and  honest,  I  am  sure." 

"Would  you  trust  me?"  asked  the  boy,  earnestly, 
fixing  his  large,  dark  eyes  eloquently  on  the  face  of 
Florence. 

"Yes,  I  would  if  you  would  only  leave  your  evil 
companions,  and  become  true  to  your  better  nature." 

"No  one  ever  spoke  to  me  like  that  before,  miss," 
said  Dodger,  his  expressive  features  showing  that  he 
was  strongly  moved.  "You  think  I  could  be  good 
if  I  tried  hard,  and  grow  up  respectable?" 

"I  am  sure  you  could,"  said  Florence,  confidently. 

There  was  something  in  this  boy,  young  outlaw 
though  he  was,  that  moved  her  powerfully,  and  even 
fascinated  her,  though  she  hardly  realized  it.  It 
was  something  more  than  a  feeling  of  compassion 
for  a  wayward  and  misguided  youth. 

"I  could  if  I  was  rich  like  you,  and  lived  in  a 


32  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

nice  house,  and  'sociated  with  swells.  If  you  had  a 
father  like  mine " 

"Is  he  a  bad  man?" 

*'Well,  he  don't  belong  to  the  church.  He  keeps 
a  gin  mill,  and  has  ever  since  I  was  a  kid." 

''Have  you  always  lived  with  him?" 

"Yes,  but  not  in  New  York." 

"Where  then?" 

"In  Melbourne." 

"That's  in  Australia." 

''Yes,  miss." 

"How  long  since  you  came  to  New  York?" 

"I  guess  it's  about  three  years." 

"And  you  have  always  had  this  man  as  a  guard- 
ian?    Poor  boy!" 

"You've  got  a  different  father  from  me,  miss?" 

Tears  forced  themselves  to  the  eyes  of  Florence, 
as  this  remark  brought  forcibly  to  her  mind  the  po- 
sition in  which  she  was  placed. 

"Alas!"  she  answered,  impulsively,  "I  am  alone 
in  the  world !" 

"What!  ain't  the  old  gentleman  that  lives  here 
your  father?" 

"He  is  my  uncle ;  but  he  is  very,  very  angry  with 
me,  and  has  this  very  day  ordered  me  to  leave  the 
house.'' 

"Why,  what  a  cantankerous  old  ruffian  he  is,  to 
be  sure!"  exclaimed  the  boy,  indignantly. 

"Hush !  you  must  not  talk  against  my  uncle.  He 
has  always  been  kind  to  me  till  now." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  33 

''Why,  what's  up?  What's  the  old  gentleman 
mad  about?" 

''He  wants  me  to  marry  my  cousin  Curtis — a  man 
I  do  not  even  like." 

"That's  a  shame!  Is  it  the  dude  I  saw  come  out 
of  the  house  a  little  while  ago?" 

"Oh,  no;  that's  a  different  gentleman.  It's  Mr. 
de  Brabazon." 

"You  don't  want  to  marry  him,  do  you  ?" 

"No,  no!" 

"I'm  glad  of  that.  He  don't  look  as  if  he  knew 
enough  to  come  in  when  it  rained." 

"The  poor  young  man  is  not  very  brilliant,  but 
I  think  I  would  rather  marry  him  than  Curtis  War- 
ing." 

"I've  seen  him,  too.  He's  got  dark  hair  and  a 
dark  complexion,  and  a  wicked  look  in  his  eye." 

"You,  too,  have  noticed  that?" 

"I've  seen  such  as  him  before.     He's  a  bad  man." 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  him?"  asked  Flor- 
ence, eagerly. 

"Only  his  looks." 

"I  am  not  deceived,"  murmured  Florence,  "it's  not 
wholly  prejudice.  The  boy  distrusts  him,  too.  So 
you  see.  Dodger,"  she  added,  aloud,  "I  am  not  a  rich 
young  lady,  as  you  suppose.  I  must  leave  this  house, 
and  work  for  my  living.  I  have  no  home  any 
more." 

"If  you  have  no  home,"  said  Dodger,  impulsively, 
"com.e  home  with  me." 


34  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

*To  the  home  you  have  described,  my  poor  boy? 
How  could  I  do  that?" 

"No ;  I  will  hire  a  room  for  you  in  a  quiet  street, 
and  you  shall  be  my  sister.  I  will  work  for  you,  and 
give  you  my  money." 

*'You  are  kind,  and  I  am  glad  to  think  I  have 
found  a  friend  when  I  need  one  most.  But  I  could 
not  accept  stolen  money.  It  would  be  as  bad  as  if 
I,  too,  were  a  thief." 

**I  am  not  a  thief!   That  is,  I  won't  be  any  more. 

"And  you  will  give  up  your  plan  of  robbing  my 
uncle?" 

"Yes,  I  will ;  though  I  don't  know  what  my  guv'- 
nor  will  say.  He'll  half  murder  me,  I  expect.  He'll 
be  sure  to  cut  up  rough." 

"Do  right.  Dodger,  whatever  happens.  Promise 
me  that  you  will  never  steal  again?" 

"There's  my  hand,  miss — I  promise.  Nobody 
ever  talked  to  me  like  you.  I  never  thought  much 
about  bein'  respectable,  and  growin'  up  to  be  some- 
body, but  if  you  take  an  interest  in  me,  I'll  try  hard 
to  do  right." 

At  this  moment,  Mr.  Linden,  clad  in  a  long  morn- 
ing gown,  and  holding  a  candle  in  his  hand,  entered 
the  room,  and  started  in  astonishment  when  he  saw 
Florence  clasping  the  hand  of  one  whose  appearance 
led  him  to  stamp  as  a  young  rough. 

"Shameless  girl!"  he  exclaimed,  in  stern  reproof. 
"So  this  is  the  company  you  keep  when  you  think  I 
am  out  of  the  way !" 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  35 


CHAPTER  VI. 


A  TEMPEST. 


The  charge  was  so  strange  and  unexpected  that 
Florence  was  overwhelmed.  She  could  only  mur- 
mur: 

"Oh,  uncle!" 

Her  young  companion  was  indignant.  Already  he 
felt  that  Florence  had  consented  to  accept  him  as  a 
friend,  and  he  was  resolved  to  stand  by  her'. 

'^I  say,  old  man,"  he  bristled  up,  "don't  you  go 
to  insult  her!     She's  an  angel!" 

"No  doubt  you  think  so,"  rejoined. Mr.  Linden,  in 
a  tone  of  sarcasm.  "Upon  my  word,  miss,  I  con- 
gratulate you  on  your  elevated  taste.  So  this  is  your 
reason  for  not  being  willing  to  marry  your  Cousin 
Curtis?" 

"Indeed,  uncle,  you  are  mistaken.  I  never  met 
this  boy  till  to-night." 

"Don't  try  to  deceive  me.  Young  man,  did  you 
open  my  secretary?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  robbed  it  into  the  bargain,"  continued  Lin- 
den, going  to  the  secretary,  and  examining  it.     He 


36  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

did  not,  however,  miss  the  will,  but  only  the  roll  of 
bills.  **Give  me  back  the  money  you  have  taken 
from  me,  you  young  rascal !" 

"I  took  nothing,  sir." 

"It's  a  lie!  The  money  is  gone,  and  no  one  else 
could  have  taken  it." 

"I  don't  allow  no  one  to  call  me  a  liar.  Just  take 
that  back,  old  man,  or  I " 

"Indeed,  uncle,  he  took  nothing,  for  he  had  only 
just  opened  the  secretary  when  I  woke  up  and  spoke 
to  him." 

"You  stand  by  him,  of  course,  shameless  girl !  I 
blush  to  think  that  you  are  my  niece.  I  am  glad  to 
think  that  my  eyes  are  opened  before  it  is  too  late." 

The  old  merchant  rang  the  bell  violently,  and 
aroused  the  house.  Dodger  made  no  attempt  to  es- 
cape, but  stood  beside  Florence  in  the  attitude  of  a 
protector.  But  a  short  time  elapsed  before  Curtis 
Waring  and  the  servants  entered  the  room,  and 
gazed  with  wonder  at  the  tableau  presented  by  the 
excited  old  man  and  the  two  young  people. 

"My  friends,"  said  John  Linden,  in  a  tone  of 
excitement,  "I  call  you  to  witness  that  this  girl, 
whom  I  blush  to  acknowledge  as  my  niece,  has 
proved  herself  unworthy  of  my  kindness.  In  your 
presence  I  cut  her  off,  and  bid  her  never  again 
darken  my  door." 

"But  what  has  she  done,  uncle?"  asked  Curtis. 
He  was  prepared  for  the  presence  of  Dodger,  whom 
he  rightly  concluded  to  be  the  agent  of  Tim  Bolton, 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  37 

but  he  could  not  understand  why  Florence  should  be 
in  the  library  at  this  late  hour.  Nor  was  he  able  to 
understand  the  evidently  friendly  relations  between 
her  and  the  young  visitor. 

"What  has  she  done?"  repeated  John  Linden. 
"She  has  introduced  that  young  ruffian  into  the 
house  to  rob  me.  Look  at  that  secretary !  He  has 
forced  it  open,  and  stolen  a  large  sum  of  money." 

"It  is  not  true,  sir,"  said  Dodger,  calmly,  "about 
taking  the  money,  I  mean.     I  haven't  taken  a  cent." 

"Then  why  did  you  open  the  secretary?" 

"I  did  mean  to  take  money,  but  she  stopped  me." 

"Oh,  she  stopped  you?"  repeated  Linden,  with 
withering  sarcasm.  "Then,  perhaps,  you  will  tell  me 
vv'here  the  money  is  gone?" 

"He  hasn't  discovered  about  the  will,"  thought 
Curtis,  congratulating  himself;  "if  the  boy  has  it,  I 
must  manage  to  give  him  a  chance  to  escape." 

"You  can  search  me  if  you  want  to,"  continued 
Dodger,  proudly.  "You  won't  find  no  money  on 
me. 

"Do  you  think  I  am  a  fool,  you  young  burglar?" 
exclaimed  John  Linden,  angrily. 

"Uncle,  let  me  speak  to  the  boy,"  said  Curtis, 
soothingly.     "I  think  he  will  tell  me." 

"As  you  like,  Curtis;  but  I  am  convinced  that 
he  is  a  thief." 

Curtis  Waring  beckoned  Dodger  into  an  adjoining 
room. 

"Now,  my  boy,"  he  said,  smoothly,  "give  me  what. 


38  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

you  took  from  tlie  secretary,  and  I  will  see  that  you 
are  not  arrested." 

"But,  sir,  I  didn't  take  nothing — it's  just  as  I  told 
the  old  duffer.  The  girl  waked  up  just  as  I'd  got 
the  secretary  open,  and  I  didn't  have  a  chance." 

*'But  the  money  is  gone,"  said  Curtis,  in  an  in- 
credulous tone. 

"I  don't  know  nothing  about  that." 

"Come,  you'd  better  examine  your  pockets.  In 
the  hurry  of  the  moment  you  may  have  taken  it  with- 
out knowing  it." 

"No,  I  couldn't." 

"Didn't  you  take  a  paper  of  any  kind?"  asked 
Curtis,  eagerly.  "Sometimes  papers  are  of  more 
value  than  money." 

"No,  I  didn't  take  no  paper,  though  Tim  told  me 
to." 

Curtis  quietly  ignored  the  allusion  to  Tim,  for 
it  did  not  suit  his  purpose  to  get  Tim  into  trouble. 
His  unscrupulous  agent  knew  too  much  that  would 
compromise  his  principal. 

"Are  you  willing  that  I  should  examine  you?'* 

"Yes,  I  am.    Go  ahead." 

Curtis  thrust  his  hand  into  the  pockets  of  the  boy, 
who,  boy  as  he  was,  was  as  tall  as  himself,  but  was 
not  repaid  by  the  discovery  of  anything.  He  was 
very  much  perplexed. 

"Didn't  you  throw  the  articles  on  the  floor?"  he 
demanded,  suspiciously. 

"No,  I  didn't." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  39 

*'You  didn't  give  them  to  the  young  lady?'* 

"No;  if  I  had  she'd  have  said  so." 

"Humph!  this  is  strange.     What  is  your  name?" 

"Dodger." 

"That's  a  queer  name;  have  you  no  other?'* 

"Not  as  I  know  of." 

"With  whom  do  you  Hve?" 

"With  my  father.  Leastways,  he  says  he's  my 
father." 

There  was  a  growing  suspicion  in  the  mind  of 
Curtis  Waring.  He  scanned  the  boy's  features  with 
attention.  Could  this  ill-dressed  boy — a  street  boy  in 
appearance — be  his  long-lost  and  deeply  wronged 
cousin? 

"Who  is  it  that  says  he  is  your  father?"  he  de- 
manded, abruptly. 

"Do  you  want  to  get  him  into  trouble?" 

"No,  I  don't  want  to  get  him  into  trouble,  or  you 
either.    Better  tell  me  all,  and  I  will  be  your  friend." 

"You're  a  better  sort  than  I  thought  at  first,"  said 
Dodger.  "The  man  I  live  with  is  called  Tim  Bol- 
ton." 

"I  though  so,"  quickly  ejaculated  Curtis.  He  had 
scarcely  got  out  the  words  before  he  was  sensible 
that  he  had  made  a  mistake. 

"What!  do  you  know  Tim?"  inquired  Dodger, 
in  surprise. 

"I  mean,"  replied  Curtis,  lamely,  "that  I  have 
heard  of  this  man  Bolton.  He  keeps  a  saloon  on  tiie 
Bowery,  doesn't  he?" 


40  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"Yes.'^ 

*'I  thought  you  would  be  living  with  some  such 
man.  Did  he  come  to  the  house  with  you  to- 
night?" 

"Yes." 

*'Whereishe?" 

*TIe  stayed  outside." 

*Terhaps  he  is  there  now." 

"Don't  you  go  to  having  him  arrested/'  said  Dod- 
ger, suspiciously. 

"I  will  keep  my  promise.  Are  you  sure  you  didn't 
pass  out  the  paper  and  the  money  to  him?  Think 
now." 

"No,  I  didn't.  I  didn't  have  a  chance.  When  I 
came  into  the  room  yonder  I  saw  the  gal  asleep,  and 
I  thought  she  wouldn't  hear  me,  but  when  I  got  the 
desk  open  she  spoke  to  me,  and  asked  me  what  I 
was  d(jin'." 

**Ahd  you  took  nothing?" 

"No." 

"It  seems  very  strange.  I  cannot  understand  it. 
Yet  my  uncle  says  the  money  is  gone.  Did  anyone 
else  enter  the  room  while  you  were  talking  with 
Miss  Linden  ?" 

"I  didn't  see  any  one." 

"What  were  you  talking  about?" 

"She  said  the  old  man  wanted  ner  to  marry  you, 
and  she  didn't  want  to." 

"She  told  you  that?"  exclaimed  Curtis,  in  dis- 
pleasure. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  41 

''Yes,  she  did.  She  said  she'd  rather  marry  the 
dude  that  was  here  early  this  evenin'." 

''Mr.  de  Brabazon !" 

*'Yes,  that's  the  name." 

*'Upon  my  word,  she  was  very  confidential.  You 
are  a  queer  person  for  her  to  select  as  a  confidant." 

"Maybe  so,  sir;  but  she  knows  I'm  her  friend." 

"You  like  the  young  lady,  then?  Perhaps  you 
would  like  to  marry  her  yourself?" 

"As  if  she'd  take  any  notice  of  a  poor  boy  like  me. 
I  told  her  if  her  uncle  sent  her  away,  I'd  take  care 
of  her  and  be  a  brother  to  her." 

"How  would  Mr.  Tim  Bolton — that's  his  name, 
isn't  it?— like  that?" 

"I  wouldn't  take  her  to  where  he  lives." 

"I  think,  myself,  it  would  hardly  be  a  suitable 
home  for  a  young  lady  brought  up  on  Madison  Ave- 
nue. There  is  certainly  no  accounting  for  tastes. 
Miss  Florence " 

"That's  her  name,  is  it?" 

"Yes;  didn't  she  tell  you?" 

"No;  but  it's  a  nice  name." 

"She  declines  my  hand,  and  accepts  your  protec- 
tion. It  will  certainly  be  a  proud  distinction  to  be- 
come Mrs.  Dodger." 

"Don't  laugh  at  her!"  said  Dodger,  suspiciously. 

"I  don't  propose  to.  But  I  think  we  may  as  well 
return  to  the  library." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Linden,  as  his  nephew  returned 
v/ith  Dodger. 


42  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"I  have  examined  the  boy,  and  found  nothing 
en  his  person,"  said  Curtis;  *'I  confess  I  am  puzzled. 
Ke  appears  to  have  a  high  admiration  for  Flor- 
ence  " 

''As  I  supposed." 

"She  has  even  confided  to  him  her  dislike  for  me, 
and  he  has  offered  her  his  protection." 

"Is  this  so,  miss?"  demanded  Mr.  Linden,  sternly. 

"Yes,  uncle,"  faltered  Florence. 

"Then  you  can  join  the  young  person  you  have 
selected  whenever  you  please.  For  your  sake  I  will 
not  have  him  arrested  for  attempted  burglary.  He  is 
welcome  to  what  he  has  taken,  since  he  is  likely  to 
marry  into  the  family.  You  may  stay  here  to-night, 
and  he  can  call  for  you  in  the  morning." 

John  Linden  closed  the  secretary,  and  left  the 
room,  leaving  Florence  sobbing.  The  servants,  too, 
retired,  and  Curtis  was  left  alone  with  her. 

"Florence,"  he  said,  "accept  my  hand,  and  I  will 
reconcile  my  uncle  to  you.  Say  but  the  word, 
and " 

"I  can  never  speak  it,  Curtis !  I  will  take  my  un- 
cle at  his  word.  Dodger,  call  for  me  to-morrow  at 
eight,  and  I  will  accept  your  friendly  services  in 
finding  me  a  new  home." 

"I'll  be  on  hand,  miss.    Good-night !" 

"Be  it  so,  obstinate  girl !"  said  Curtis,  angrily. 
"The  time  will  come  when  you  will  bitterly  repent 
your  mad  decision." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  4^, 


CHAPTER   VII. 

FLORENCE  LEAVES  HOME. 

Florence  passed  a  sleepless  night.  It  had  come 
upon  her  so  suddenly,  this  expulsion  from  the  home 
of  her  childhood,  that  she  could  not  fully  realize  it. 
She  could  not  feel  that  she  was  taking  her  last  look 
at  the  familiar  room^  and  well-remembered  dining- 
room,  where  she  had  sat  down  for  the  last  time  for 
breakfast.  She  was  alone  at  the  breakfast  table,  for 
the  usual  hour  was  half-past  eight,  and  she  had  ap- 
pointed Dodger  to  call  for  her  at  eight. 

"Is  it  true,  Miss  Florence,  that  you're  going 
away?"  asked  Jane,  the  warm-hearted  table  girl,  as 
she  waited  upon  Florence. 

"Yes,  Jane,"  answered  Florence,  sadly. 

"It's  a  shame,  so  it  is!  I  didn't  think  your  un- 
cle w^ould  be  so  hard-hearted." 

"He  is  disappointed  because  I  won't  marry  my 
Cousin  Curtis." 

"I  don't  blame  you  for  it,  miss.  I  never  liked 
Mr.  Waring.     He  isn't  half  good  enough  for  you." 

"I  say  nothing  about  that,  Jane;  but  I  will  not 
marry  a  man  I  do  not  love." 


44  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

*'Nor  would  I,  miss.  Where  are  you  going,  if  I 
may  make  so  bold?" 

"I  don't  know,  Jane,"  said  Florence,  despondently. 

**But  you  can't  walk  about  the  streets." 

*'A  trusty  friend  is  going  to  call  for  me  at  eight 
o'clock;  when  he  comes  admit  him." 

"It  is  a — a  young  gentleman?" 

"You  wouldn't  call  him  such.  He  is  a  boy,  a  poor 
boy;  but  I  think  he  is  a  true  friend.  He  says  he 
will  find  me  a  comfortable  room  somewhere,  where 
I  can  settle  down  and  look  for  work." 

"Are  you  going  to  work  for  a  living,  Miss  Flor- 
ence?" asked  Jane,  horrified. 

"I  must,  Jane." 

"It's  a  great  shame — you,  a  lady  born." 

"No,  Jane,  I  do  not  look  upon  it  in  that  light.  I 
shall  be  happier  for  having  my  mind  and  my  hands 
occupied." 

"What  work  will  you  do?" 

"I  don't  know  yet.    Dodger  will  advise  me." 

"Who,  miss?" 

"Dodger." 

"Who  is  he?" 

"It's  the  boy  I  spoke  of." 

"Shure,  he's  got  a  quare  name." 

"Yes;  but  names  don't  count  for  much.  It's  the 
heart  I  think  of,  and  this  boy  has  a  kind  heart." 

"Have  you  known  him  long?" 

"I  saw  him  yesterday  for  the  first  time." 

''Is  it  the  young  fellow  who  was  here  last  night?" 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  45 

^'Yes." 

*'He  isn't  fit  company  for  the  likes  of  you,  Miss 
Florence." 

"You  forget,  Jane^  that  I  am  no  longer  a  rich 
young  lady.  I  am  poorer  than  even  you.  This 
Dodger  is  kind,  and  I  feel  that  I  can  trust  him." 

"If  you  are  poor.  Miss  Florence,"  said  Jane,  hesi- 
tatingly, "would  you  mind  borrowing  some  money 
of  me?  I've  got  ten  dollars  upstairs  in  my  trunk, 
and  I  don't  need  it  at  all.  It's  proud  I'll  be  to  lend 
it  to  you." 

"Thank  you,  Jane,"  said  Florence,  gratefully.  "I 
thought  I  had  but  one  friend.  I  find  I  have 
two " 

"Then  you'll  take  the  money  ?  I'll  go  right  up  and 
get  it." 

"No,  Jane;  not  at  present.  I  have  twenty  dol- 
lars in  my  purse,  and  it  will  last  me  till  I  can  earn 
more." 

"But,  miss,  twenty  dollars  will  soon  go,"  said 
Jane,  disappointed. 

"If  I  find  that  I  need  the  sum  you  so  kindly  offer 
me,  I  will  let  you  know,  I  promise  that." 

"Thank  you,  miss." 

At  this  point  a  bell  rang  from  above. 

"It's  from  Mr.  Curtis'  room,"  said  Jane. 

"Go  and  see  what  he  wants." 

Jane  returned  in  a  brief  time  with  a  note  in  her 
hand. 

"Mr.  Curtis  asked  me  if  you  were  still  here,"  she 


46  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

explained,  ''and  when  I  told  him  you  were  he  asked 
me  to  give  you  this." 

Florence  took  the  note^  and,  opening  it,  read  these 
lines : 

''Florence:  Now  that  you  have  had  time  to 
think  over  your  plan  of  leaving  your  old  home,  I 
hope  you  have  come  to  see  how  foolish  it  is.  Re- 
flect that,  if  carried  out,  a  life  of  poverty  and  squalid 
wretchedness  amid  homely  and  uncongenial  sur- 
roundings awaits  you;  while,  as  my  wife,  you  will 
live  a  life  of  luxury  and  high  social  position. 
There  are  many  young  ladies  who  would  be  glad  to 
accept  the  chance  w'hich  you  so  recklessly  reject. 
By  accepting  my  hand  you  will  gratify  our  excel- 
lent uncle,  and  make  me  the  happiest  of  mortals. 
You  will  acquit  me  of  mercenary  motives,  since 
you  are  now  penniless,  and  your  disobedience  leaves 
me  sole  heir  to  Uncle  John.  I  love  you,  and  it  will 
be  my  chief  object,  if  you  will  permit  it,  to  make  you 
happy.  Curtis  Waring." 

Florence  ran  her  eyes  rapidly  over  this  note,  but 
her  heart  did  not  respond,  and  her  resolution  was 
not  shaken. 

*Tell  Mr.  Waring  there  is  no  answer,  Jane,  if 
he  inquires,"  she  said. 

"Was  he  tryin'  to  wheedle  you  into  marryin' 
him?"  asked  Jane. 

"He  wished  me  to  change  my  decision." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  47 

'Tm  glad  you've  given  him  the  bounce,"  said 
Jane,  whose  expressions  were  not  always  refined. 
^'1  wouldn't  marry  him  myself." 

Florence  smiled.  Jane  was  red  haired,  and  her 
nose  was  what  is  euphemistically  called  retrousse. 
Even  in  her  own  circles  she  was  not  regarded  as 
beautiful,  and  was  hardly  likely  to  lead  a  rich  man 
to  overlook  her  humble  station,  and  sue  for  her 
hand. 

"Then,  Jane,  you  at  least  will  not  blame  me  for 
refusing  my  cousin's  hand?" 

"That  I  won't,  miss.  Do  you  know,  Miss  Flor- 
ence"— and  here  Jane  lowered  her  voice — "I've  a 
suspicion  that  Mr.  Curtis  is  married  already?" 

"What  do  you  mean,  Jane?"  asked  Florence, 
startled. 

"There  was  a  poor  young  woman  called  here  last 
month  and  inquired  for  Mr.  Curtis.  She  was  very 
sorrowful-like,  and  poorly  dressed.  He  came  up 
when  she  was  at  the  door,  and  he  spoke  harshlike, 
and  told  her  to  walk  away  with  him.  What  they 
said  I  couldn't  hear,  but  I've  a  suspicion  that  she 
was  miarried  to  him,  secretlike  for  I  saw  a  wedding 
ring  upon  her  finger." 

"But,  Jane,  it  would  be  base  and  infamous  for 
him  to  ask  for  my  hand  when  he  was  already  mar- 
ried." 

"I  can't  help  it,  miss.  That's  just  what  he 
wouldn't  mind  doin'.  Oh,  he's  a  sly  deceiver,  Mr. 
Curtis.     I'd  like  to  see  him  foolin'  around  me." 


48  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

Jane  nodded  her  head  with  emphasis,  as  if  to  in- 
timate the  kind  of  reception  Curtis  Waring  would 
get  if  he  attempted  to  trifle  with  her  virgin  affec- 
tions. 

"I  hope  what  you  suspect  is  not  true,"  said  Flor- 
ence, gravely.  "I  do  not  like  or  respect  Curtis,  but 
I  don't  like  to  think  he  would  be  so  base  as  that. 
If  you  ever  see  this  young  woman  again,  try  to  find 
out  where  she  lives.  I  would  like  to  make  her  ac- 
quaintance, and  be  a  friend  to  her  if  she  needs 
one." 

"Shure,  Miss  Florence,  you  will  be  needin'  a 
friend  yourself." 

"It  is  true,  Jane.  I  forgot  that  I  am  no  longer 
a  young  lady  of  fortune,  but  a  penniless  girl,  obliged 
to  work  for  a  living." 

"What  would  your  uncle  say  if  he  knew  that  Mr. 
Curtis  had  a  wife?" 

"We  don't  know  that  he  has  one,  and  till  we  do, 
it  would  not  be  honorable  to  intimate  such  a  thing 
to  Uncle  John." 

"Shure,  he  wouldn't  be  particular.  It's  all  his 
fault  that  you're  obliged  to  leave  home,  and  go  into 
the  streets.  Why  couldn't  he  take  no  for  an  an- 
swer, and  marry  somebody  else,  if  he  can  find  any- 
body to  have  him?" 

"I  wish,  indeed,  that  he  had  fixed  his  affections 
elsewhere,"  responded  Florence,  with  a  sigh. 

"Shure,  he's  twice  as  old  as  you,  Miss  Florence, 
anyway." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  49 

*'I  shouldn't  mind  that  so  much,  if  that  was  the 
only  objection." 

"It'll  be  a  great  deal  better  marryin'  a  young 
man." 

"I  don't  care  to  marry  any  one,  Jane.  I  don't 
think  I  shall  ever  marry." 

'It's  all  very  well  to  say  that.  Miss  Florence. 
Lots  of  girls  say  so,  but  they  change  their  minds. 
I  don't  mean  to  live  out  always  myself." 

"Is  there  any  young  man  you  are  interested  in, 
Jane?" 

"Maybe  there  is,  and  maybe  there  isn't.  Miss 
Florence.  If  I  ever  do  get  married  I'll  invite  you 
to  the  wedding." 

"And  I'll  promise  to  come  if  I  can.  But  I  hear 
the  bell.     I  think  my  friend  Dodger  has  come." 

"Shall  I  ask  him  in,  miss?" 

"No.  Tell  him  I  will  be  ready  to  accompany  him 
at  once." 

She  went  out  into  the  hall,  and  when  the  door 
was  opened  the  visitor  proved  to  be  Dodger.  He 
had  improved  his  appearance  so  far  as  his  limited 
means  would  allow.  His  hands  and  face  were  thor- 
oughly clean ;  he  had  bought  a  new  collar  and  neck- 
tie; his  shoes  were  polished,  and  despite  his  shabby 
suit,  he  looked  quite  respectable.  Getting  a  full 
view  of  him,  Florence  saw  that  his  face  was  frank 
and  handsome,  his  eyes  bright,  and  his  teeth  like 
pearls. 

"Shure,  he's  a  great  deal  better  lookin'  than  Mr. 


50  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

Curtis,"  whispered  Jane.  ''Here,  Mr.  Dodger,  take 
Miss  Florence's  valise,  and  mind  you  take  good  care 
of  her." 

"I  will,"  answered  Dodger,  heartily.  "Come, 
Miss  Florence,  if  you  don't  mind  walking  over  to 
Fourth  Avenue,  we'll  take  the  horse  cars." 

So,  under  strange  guidance,  Florence  Linden 
left  her  luxurious  home,  knowing  not  what  awaited 
her.  What  haven  of  refuge  she  might  find  she  knew 
not.    She,  like  Dodger,  was  adrift  in  New  York. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  51 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


A     FRIENDLY     COMPACT. 


Florence,  as  she  stepped  on  the  sidewalk, 
turned,  and  fixed  a  last  sad  look  on  the  house  that 
had  been  her  home  for  so  many  years.  She  had 
never  anticipated  such  a  sundering  of  home  ties,  and 
even  now  she  found  it  difficult  to  realize  that  the 
moment  had  come  when  her  life  was  to  be  rent  in 
twain,  and  the  sunlight  of  prosperity  was  to  be  dark- 
ened and  obscured  by  a  gloomy  and  uncertain  fu- 
ture. 

She  had  hastily  packed  a  few  indispensable  arti- 
cles in  a  valise  which  she  carried  in  her  hand. 

*'Let  me  take  your  bag.  Miss  Florence,"  said 
Dodger,  reaching  out  his  hand. 

''I  don't  want  to  trouble  you,  Dodger." 

"It  ain't  no  trouble,  Miss  Florence.  I'm  stronger 
than  you,  and  it  looks  better  for  me  to  carry  it." 

"You  are  very  kind.  Dodger.  What  would  I  do 
without  you?" 

"There's  plenty  that  would  be  glad  of  the  chance 
of  helping  you,"  said  Dodger,  with  a  glance  of  ad- 
miration at  the  fair  face  of  his  companion. 

"I  don't  know  where  to  find  them,"  said  Flor- 


52  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

ence,  sadly.  ''Even  my  uncle  has  turned  against 
me." 

''He's  an  old  chump!"  ejaculated  Dodger,  in  a 
tone  of  disgust. 

*'Hush!  I  cannot  hear  a  word  against  him.  He 
has  always  been  kind  and  considerate  till  now.  1 1 
is  the  evil  influence  of  my  Cousin  Curtis  that  has 
turned  him  against  me.  When  he  comes  to  himsejf 
I  am  sure  he  will  regret  his  cruelty." 

"He  would  take  you  back  if  you  would  marry 
your  cousin." 

"Yes;  but  that  I  will  never  do!"  exclaimed  Flor- 
ence, with  energy. 

"Bully  for  you!"  said  Dodger.  "Excuse  me," 
he  said,  apologetically.  "I  ain't  used  to  talkin'  to 
young  ladies,  and  perhaps  that  ain't  proper  for  me 
to  say." 

"I  don't  mind.  Dodger;  your  heart  is  in  the  right 
place." 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Florence.  I'm  glad  you've  got 
confidence  in  me.     I'll  try  to  deserve  it." 

"Where  are  we  going?"  asked  the  young  lady, 
whose  only  thought  up  to  this  moment  had  been  to 
get  away  from  the  presence  of  Curtis  and  his  per- 
secutions. 

They  had  now  reached  Fourth  Avenue,  and  a  sur- 
face car  was  close  at  hand. 

"We're  going  to  get  aboard  that  car,"  said 
Dodger,  signaling  with  his  free  hand.  "Fll  tell  you 
more  when  we're  inside." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  53 

Florence  entered  the  car,  and  Dodger,  following, 
took  a  seat  at  her  side. 

They  presented  a  noticeable  contrast,  for  Flor- 
ence was  dressed  as  beseemed  her  station,  while 
Dodger,  in  spite  of  his  manly,  attractive  face,  was 
roughly  attired,  and  looked  like  a  working  boy. 

When  the  conductor  came  along,  he  drew  out  a 
dime,  and  tendered  it  in  payment  of  the  double  fare. 
The  money  was  in  the  conductor's  hand  before  Flor- 
ence was  fully  aware. 

"You  must  not  pay  for  me,  Dodger,"  she  said. 

''Why  not?"  asked  the  boy.     ''Ain't  we  friends?" 

"Yes,  but  you  have  no  money  to  spare.  Here, 
let  me  return  the  money." 

And  she  offered  him  a  dime  from  her  own 
purse. 

"You  can  pay  next  time.  Miss  Florence.  It's  all 
right.  Now,  I'll  tell  you  where  we  are  goin'.  A 
friend  of  mine,  Mrs.  O'Keefe,  has  a  lodgin'  house, 
just  off  the  Bowery.  I  saw  her  last  night,  and  she 
says  she's  got  a  good  room  that  she  can  give  you  for 
two  dollars  a  week — I  don't  know  how  much  you'd 
be  willing  to  pay,  but " 

"I  can  pay  that  for  a  time  at  'least.  I  have  a  little 
money,  and  I  must  find  some  work  to  do  soon.  Is 
this  Mrs.  O'Keefe  a  nice  lady?" 

"She  ain't  a  lady  at  all,"  answered  Dodger, 
bluntly.  "She  keeps  an  apple-stand  near  the  corner 
of  Bowery  and  Grand  Street;  but  she's  a  good,  re- 
spectable woman,  and  she's  good-hearted.     She'll  be 


54  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

kind  to  you,  and  try  to  make  things  pleasant ;  but  if 
you  ain't  satisfied " 

*'It  will  do  for  the  present.  Kindness  is  what  I 
need,  driven  as  I  am  from  the  home  of  my  child- 
hood.    But  you.  Dodger,  where  do  you  live?" 

'I'm  goin'  to  take  a  small  room  in  the  same 
house,  Miss  Florence." 

*'I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  near  me." 

'1  am  proud  to  hear  you  say  that.  I'm  a  poor 
boy,  and  you're  a  rich  lady,  but " 

"Not  rich.  Dodger.     I  am  as  poor  as  yourself." 

"You're  a  reg'lar  lady,  anyway.  You  ain't  one 
of  my  kind,  but  I'm  going  to  improve  and  raise  my- 
self. I  was  readin'  the  other  day  of  a  rich  man  that 
was  once  a  poor  boy,  and  sold  papers  like  me.  But 
there's  one  thing  in  the  way — I  ain't  got  no  eddi- 
cation." 

''You  can  read  and  write,  can't  you.  Dodger?" 

"Yes;  I  can  read  pretty  well,  but  I  can*t  writ^ 
much." 

"I  will  teach  you  in  the  evenings,  when  we  are 
both  at  leisure." 

"Will  you?"  asked  the  boy,  with  a  glad  smile. 
"You're  very  kind — I'd  like  a  teacher  like  you." 

"Then  it's  a  bargain.  Dodger,"  and  Florence's 
face  for  the  first  time  lost  its  sad  look,  as  she  saw  an 
opportunity  of  helping  one  who  had  befriended  her. 
"But  you  must  promise  to  study  faithfully." 

"That  I  will.  If  I  don't,  I'll  give  you  leave  to  lick 
me." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  53 

"I  shan't  forget  that,"  said  Florence,  amused.  *'I 
will  buy  a  ruler  of  good  hard  wood,  and  then  you 
must  look  out.  But,  tell  me,  where  have  you  lived 
hitherto  ?" 

"I  don't  like  to  tell  you,  Miss  Florence.  I've  lived 
ever  since  I  was  a  kid  with  a  man  named  Tim  Bol- 
ton. He  keeps  a  saloon  on  the  Bowery,  near  Hous- 
ton Street.  It's  a  tough  place,  I  tell  you.  I've  got 
a  bed  in  one  corner — it's  tucked  away  in  a  closet  in 
the  day." 

"I  suppose  it  is  a  drinking  saloon?" 

"Yes,  that's  what  it  is." 

"And  kept  open  very  late?" 

"Pretty  much  all  night." 

"Is  this  Tim  Bolton  any  relation  of  yours?" 

"He  says  he's  my  father;  but  I  don't  believe 
it." 

"Have  you  always  lived  with  him?" 

"Ever  since  I  was  a  small  kid." 

"Have  you  always  lived  in  New  York?" 

"No ;  I  was  out  in  Australia.  Tim  was  out  in  the 
country  part  of  the  time,  and  part  of  the  time  he  kept 
a  saloon  in  Melbourne.  There  was  thieves  and 
burglars  used  to  come  into  his  place.  I  knew  what 
they  were,  though  they  didn't  think  I  did." 

"How  terrible  for  a  boy  to  be  subjected  to  such 
influences." 

"But  I've  made  up  my  mind  I  won't  live  with  Tim 
no  longer.  I  can  earn  my  own  livin'  sellin'  papers, 
or  smashin'  baggage,  and  keep  aw^ay  from  Tim.    I'd 


SG  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

have  done  it  before  if  I'd  had  a  friend  Hke  you  to 
care  for  me." 

*'We  will  stand  by  each  other,  Dodger.  Heaven 
knows  I  need  a  friend,  and  if  I  can  be  a  friend  to 
you,  and  help  you,  I  will." 

"We'll  get  out  here.  Miss  Florence.  I  told  Mrs. 
O'Keefe  I'd  call  at  her  stand,  and  she'll  go  over  and 
show  you  your  room." 

They  left  the  car  at  the  corner  of  Grand  Street, 
and  Dodger  led  the  way  to  an  apple-stand,  presided 
over  by  a  lady  of  ample  proportions,  whose  broad, 
Celtic  face  seemed  to  indicate  alike  shrewd  good 
sense  and  a  kindly  spirit. 

''Mrs.  O'Keefe,"  said  Dodger,  ''this  is  the  young 
lady  I  spoke  to  you  about — Miss  Florence  Linden." 

"It's  welcome  you  are,  my  dear,  and  I'm  very 
glad  to  make  your  acquaintance.  You  look  like  a 
rale  leddy,  and  I  don't  know  how  you'll  like  the 
room  I've  got  for  you." 

"I  cannot  afford  to  be  particular,  Mrs.  O'Keefe. 
I  have  had  a — a  reverse  of  circumstances,  and  I  must 
be  content  with  an  humble  home." 

"Then  I'll  go  over  and  show  it  to  you.  Here, 
Kitty,  come  and  mind  the  stand,"  she  called  to  a 
girl  about  thirteen  across  the  street,  "and  don't  let 
anybody  steal  the  apples.  Look  out  for  Jimmy  Ma- 
hone,  he  stole  a  couple  of  apples  right  under  my 
nose  this  mornin',  the  young  spalpeen !" 

As  they  were  crossing  the  street,  a  boy  of  fourteen 
ran  up  to  Dodger. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  57 

^'Dodger,''  said  he,  ''you'd  better  go  right  ovei 
to  Tim  Bolton's.  He's  in  an  awful  stew — says  he'll 
skin  you  alive  if  you  don't  come  to  the  s'loon  right 
away." 


58  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  NEW  HOME. 

*'You  can  tell  Tim  Bolton,"  said  Dodger,  "that 
I  don't  intend  to  come  back  at  all." 

*'You  don't  mean  it.  Dodger?"  said  Ben  Holt, 
incredulously. 

"Yes,  I  do.     I'm  going  to  set  up  for  myself." 

"Oh,  Dodger,"  said  Florence,  "I'm  afraid  you 
will  get  into  trouble  for  my  sake!" 

"Don't  worry  about  that,  Miss  Florence.  I'm 
old  enough  to  take  care  of  myself,  and  I've  got 
tired  of  livin'  with  Tim." 

"But  he  may  beat  you !" 

"He'll  have  to  get  hold  of  me  first." 

They  had  reached  a  four-story  tenement  of  shabby 
brick,  which  was  evidently  well  filled  up  by  a  mis- 
cellaneous crowd  of  tenants;  shop  girls,  mechanics, 
laborers  and  widows,  living  by  their  daily  toil. 

Florence  had  never  visited  this  part  of  the  city, 
and  her  heart  sank  within  her  as  she  followed  Mrs. 
O'Keefe  through  a  dirty  hallway,  up  a  rickety  stair- 
case, to  the  second  floor. 

"One  more  flight  of  stairs,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  59 

O'Keefe,  encouragingly.  "I've  got  four  rooms  up- 
stairs; one  of  them  is  for  you,  and  one  for  Dodger." 

Florence  did  not  reply.  She  began  to  understand 
at  what  cost  she  had  secured  her  freedom  from  a  dis- 
tasteful marriage. 

In  her  Madison  Avenue  home  all  the  rooms  were 

light,  clean  and  luxuriously  furnished.     Here 

But  words  were  inadequate  to  describe  the  contrast. 

Mrs.  O'Keefe  threw  open  the  door  of  a  back  room 
about  twelve  feet  square,  furnished  in  the  plainest 
manner,  uncarpeted,  except  for  a  strip  that  was  laid, 
like  a  rug,  beside  the  bedstead. 

There  was  a  washstand,  with  a  mirror,  twelve  by 
fifteen  inches,  placed  above  it,  a  pine  bureau,  a  couple 
of  wooden  chairs,  and  a  cane-seated  rocking-chair. 

"There,  my  dear,  what  do  you  say  to  that?"  asked 
Mrs.  O'Keefe,  complacently.  "All  nice  and  com- 
fortable as  you  would  wish  to  see." 

*Tt  is — very  nice,"  said  Florence,  faintly,  sacrific- 
ing truth  to  politeness. 

"And  who  do  you  think  used  to  live  here?"  asked 
the  apple-woman. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know." 

"The  bearded  woman  in  the  dime  museum,"  an- 
swered Mrs.  O'Keefe,  nodding  her  head.  "She 
lived  with  me  three  months,  and  she  furnished  the 
room  herself.  When  she  went  away  she  was  hard 
up,  and  I  bought  the  furniture  of  her  cheap.  You 
remember  Madam  Berger,  don't  you.  Dodger?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  seen  her  often." 


6o  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

''She  got  twenty-five  dollars  a  week,  and  she'd 
ought  to  have  saved  money,  but  she  had  a  good-for- 
nothin'  husband  that  drank  up  all  her  hard  earnin's/' 

"I  hope  she  didn't  drink  herself,"  said  Florence, 
who  shuddered  at  the  idea  of  succeeding  a  drunken 
tenant. 

''Not  a  drop.  She  was  a  good,  sober  lady,  if  she 
did  work  in  a  dime  museum.  She  only  left  here 
two  weeks  ago.  It  isn't  every  one  I'd  be  willin'  to 
take  in  her  place,  but  I  see  you're  a  real  leddy,  let 
alone  that  Dodger  recommends  you.  I  hope  you'll 
like  the  room,  and  I'll  do  all  I  can  to  make  things 
pleasant.  You  can  go  into  my  room  any  hour,  my 
dear,  and  do  your  little  cookin'  on  my  stove.  I 
s'pose  you'll  do  your  own  cookin'  ?" 

"Well,  not  just  at  present,"  faltered  Florence. 
"I  am  afraid  I  don't  know  much  about  cooking." 

"You'll  find  it  a  deal  cheaper,  and  it's  more  quiet 
and  gentale  than  goin'  to  the  eatin'-houses.  I'll 
help  you  all  I  can,  and  glad  to." 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  O'Keefe,  you  are  very  kind," 
said  Florence,  gratefully.  "Perhaps  just  at  first 
you  wouldn't  object  to  taking  me  as  a  boarder,  and 
letting  me  take  my  meals  with  you.  I  don't  think 
I  would  like  to  go  to  the  eating-houses  alone." 

"To  be  sure,  my  dear,  if  you  wish  it,  and  I'll  be 
glad  of  your  company.  I'll  make  the  terms  satis- 
factory." 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  that,"  said  Florence,  feeling 
very  much  relieved. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  6r 

*'If  I  might  be  so  bold,  what  kind  of  work  are  you 
going  to  do?" 

"I  hardly  know.  It  has  come  upon  me  so  sud- 
aenly.  I  shall  have  to  do  something,  for  I  haven't 
got  much  money.  What  I  should  like  best  would 
be  to  write " 

"Is  it  for  the  papers  you  mean?" 

"Oh,  no;  I  mean  for  some  author  or  lawyer." 

**I  don't  know  much  about  that,"  said  Mrs. 
O'Keefe.  "In  fact,  I  don't  mind  tellin'  you,  my 
dear,  that  I  can't  write  myself,  but  I  earn  a  good 
livin'  all  the  same  by  my  apple-stand.  I  tell  you^ 
my  dear,"  she  continued  in  a  confidential  tone, 
"there  is  a  good  dale  of  profit  in  sellin'  apples.  It's 
better  than  sewin'  or  writin'.  Of  course,  a  young- 
leddy  like  you  wouldn't  like  to  go  into  the  busi- 
ness." 

Florence  shook  her  head,  with  a  smile. 

"No,  Mrs.  O'Keefe,"  she  said.  "I  am  afraid  I 
haven't  a  business  turn,  and  I  should  hardly  like  so 
public  an  employment." 

"Lor',  miss,  it's  nothin'  if  you  get  used  to  it. 
There's  nothin'  dull  about  my  business,  unless  it 
rains,  and  you  get  used  to  havin'  people  look  at  you." 

"It  isn't  all  that  are  worth  looking  at  like  you, 
Mrs.  O'Keefe,"  said  Dodger,  slyly. 

"Oh,  go  away  wid  your  fun.  Dodger,"  said  the 
apple-woman,  good-naturedly.  "I  ain't  much  to 
look  at,  I  know." 

"I  think  there's  a  good  deal  of  you  to  look  at. 


62  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

Mrs.  O'Keefe.  You  must  weigh  near  three  hun- 
dred." 

'Tve  a  good  mind  to  box  your  ears,  Dodger.  I 
only  weigh  a  hundred  and  ninety-five.  But  I  can't 
be  bothered  wid  your  jokes.  Can  you  sew,  Miss 
Florence?" 

''Yes;  but  I  would  rather  earn  my  Hving  some 
other  way,  if  possible." 

''Small  blame  to  you  for  that.  I  had  a  girl  in 
Dodger's  room  last  year  who  used  to  sew  for  a  liv- 
in'.  Early  and  late  she  worked,  poor  thing,  and  she 
couldn't  make  but  two  dollars  a  week." 

"How  could  she  live?"  asked  Florence,  startled, 
for  she  knew  very  little  of  the  starvation  wages  paid 
to  toiling  women. 

"She  didn't  live.  She  just  faded  away,  and  it's 
my  belief  the  poor  thing  didn't  get  enough  to  eat. 
Every  day  or  two  I'd  make  an  excuse  to  take  her 
in  something  from  my  own  table,  a  plate  of  meat, 
or  a  bit  of  toast  and  a  cup  of  tay,  makin'  belave  she 
didn't  get  a  chance  to  cook  for  herself,  but  she  got 
thinner  and  thinner,  and  her  poor  cheeks  got  hollow, 
and  she  died  in  the  hospital  at  last." 

The  warm-hearted  apple-woman  wiped  away  a 
tear  with  the  corner  of  her  apron,  as  she  thought  of 
the  poor  girl  whose  sad  fate  she  described. 

"You  won't  die  of  consumption,  Mrs.  O'Keefe," 
said  Dodger.  "It'll  take  a  good  while  for  you  to 
fade  away." 

"Hear  him  now,"  said  the  apple-woman,  laughing. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  63 

'*He  will  have  his  joke,  Miss  Florence,  but  he's  a 
good  bye  for  all  that,  and  I'm  glad  he's  goin'  to  lave 
Tim  Bolton,  that  ould  thafe  of  the  v^orruld." 

''Now,  Mrs.  O'Keefe,  you  know  you'd  marry 
Tim  if  he'd  only  ask  you." 

''Marry  him,  is  it?  I'd  lay  my  broom  over  his 
head  if  he  had  the  impudence  to  ask  me.  When 
L'laggie  O'Keefe  marries  ag'in,  she  won't  marry  a 
man  wid  a  red  nose." 

"Break  it  gently  to  him,  Mrs.  O'Keefe.  Tim  is 
just  the  man  to  break  his  heart  for  love  of  you." 

Mrs.  O'Keefe  aimed  a  blow  at  Dodger,  but  he 
proved  true  to  his  name,  and  skillfully  evaded  it. 

"I  must  be  goin',"  he  said.  "I've  got  to  work,  or 
I  can't  pay  room  rent  when  the  week  comes  round." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do.  Dodger?"  asked  Flor- 
ence. 

"It  isn't  time  for  the  evenin'  papers  yet,  so  I  shall 
go  'round  to  the  piers  and  see  if  I  can't  get  a  job  at 
smashin'  baggage." 

"But  I  shouldn't  think  any  one  would  want  to  do 
that,"  said  Florence,  puzzled. 

"It's  what  we  boys  call  it.  Ife's  just  carryin'  valises 
and  bundles.  Sometimes  I  show  strangers  the  way 
to  Broadway.  Last  week  an  old  man  paid  me  a 
dollar  to  show  him  the  way  to  the  Cooper  Institute. 
He  was  a  gentleman,  he  was.  I'd  like  to  meet  him 
ag'in.  Good-by,  Miss  Florence;  I'll  be  back  some 
time  this  afternoon." 

"And  I  must  be  goin',  too,"  said  Mrs.  O'Keefe. 


64  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"I  can't  depend  on  that  Kitty;  she's  a  wild  slip  of  a 
girl,  and  just  as  like  as  not  I'll  find  a  dozen  apples 
stole  when  I  get  back.  I  hope  you  won't  feel  lonely, 
my  dear." 

*'I  think  I  will  lie  down  a  while,*'  said  Florence. 
''I  have  a  headache." 

She  threw  herself  on  the  bed,  and  a  feeling  of 
loneliness  and  desolation  came  over  her. 

Her  new  friends  were  kind,  but  they  could  not 
make  up  to  her  for  her  uncle's  love,  so  strangely 
lost,  and  the  home  she  had  left  behind. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  65 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE     ARCH      CONSPIRATOR. 

In  the  house  on  Madison  Avenue,  Curtis  Waring 
was  left  in  possession  of  the  field.  Through  his 
machinations  Florence  had  been  driven  from  home 
and  disinherited. 

He  was  left  sole  heir  to  his  uncle's  large  property 
with  the  prospect  of  soon  succeeding,  for  though 
only  fifty-four,  John  Linden  looked  at  least  ten 
years  older,  and  was  as  feeble  as  many  men  past 
seventy. 

Yet,  as  Curtis  seated  himself  at  the  breakfast  table 
an  hour  after  Florence  had  left  the  house,  he  looked 
far  from  happy  or  triumphant. 

One  thing  he  had  not  succeeded  in,  the  conquest 
of  his  cousin's  heart.  Though  he  loved  himself 
best,  he  was  really  in  love  with  Florence,  so  far  as 
he  was  capable  of  being  in  love  with  any  one. 

She  was  only  half  his  age — scarcely  that — but  he 
persuaded  himself  that  the  match  was  in  every  way 
suitable. 

He  liked  to  fancy  her  at  the  head  of  his  table, 
after  the  death  of  his  uncle,  which  he  anticipated  in 
a  few  months  at  latest. 


66  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

The  more  she  appeared  to  disHke  him,  the  more 
he  determined  to  marry  her,  even  against  her  will. 

She  was  the  only  one  likely  to  inherit  John  Lin- 
den's wealth,  and  by  marrying  her  he  would  make 
sure  of  it. 

Yet  she  had  been  willing  to  leave  the  home  of  her 
youth,  to  renounce  luxury  for  a  life  of  poverty, 
rather  than  to  marry  him. 

When  he  thought  of  this  his  face  became  set  and 
its  expression  stern  and  determined. 

"Florence  shall  yet  be  mine,"  he  declared,  reso- 
lutely. "I  will  yet  be  master  of  her  fate,  and  bend 
her  to  my  will.  Foolish  girl,  how  dare  she  match 
her  puny  strength  against  the  resolute  will  of  Curtis 
Waring?" 

"Was  there  any  one  else  whom  she  loved?"  he 
asked  himself,  anxiously.  No,  he  could  think  of 
none.  On  account  of  his  uncle's  chronic  invalidism, 
they  had  neither  gone  into  society,  nor  entertained 
visitors,  and  in  the  midst  of  a  great  city  Florence 
and  her  uncle  had  practically  led  the  lives  of  re- 
cluses. 

There  had  been  no  opportunity  to  meet  young 
men  who  might  have  proved  claimants  for  her 
hand. 

"When  did  Miss  Florence  leave  the  house,  Jane?" 
he  inquired,  as  he  seated  himself  at  the  table. 

"Most  an  hour  since,"  the  girl  answered,  coldly, 
for  she  disliked  Curtis  as  much  as  she  loved  and 
admired  Florence. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  67 

"It  is  sad,  very  sad  that  she  should  be  so  head- 
strong," said  Curtis,  with  hypocritical  sorrow. 

*'It  is  sad  for  her  to  go  away  from  her  own  uncle's 
house,"  returned  Jane. 

"And  very — very  foolish." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,  sir.  She  had  her  rea- 
sons," said  Jane,  significantly. 

Curtis    coughed. 

He  had  no  doubt  that  Florence  had  talked  over 
the  matter  with  her  hand-maiden. 

"Did  she  say  where  she  was  going,  Jane?"  he 
asked. 

"I  don't  think  the  poor  child  knew  herself,  sir." 

"Did  she  go  alone?" 

"No,  sir;  the  boy  that  was  here  last  night  called 
for  her." 

"That  ragamuffin!"  said  Curtis,  scornfully.  "She 
certainly  shows  extraordinary  taste  for  a  young  lady 
of  family." 

"The  boy  seems  a  very  kind  and  respectable  boy," 
said  Jane,  who  had  been  quite  won  by  Dodger's 
kindness  to  her  young  mistress. 

"He  may  be  respectable,  though  I  am  not  so  sure 
of  that ;  but  his  position  in  life  is  very  humble.  He 
is  probably  a  bootblack;  a  singular  person  to  select 
for  the  friend  of  a  girl  like  Florence." 

"There's  them  that  stands  higher  that  isn't  h^f  so 
good,"  retorted  Jane,  with  more  zeal  than  good 
grammar. 

"Did  Miss  Florence  take  a  cab?" 


6S  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

*'No;  she  just  walked." 

"But  she  took  some  clothing  with  her?'* 

*'She  took  a  handbag — that  is  all.  She  will  send 
for  her  trunk." 

"If  you  find  out  where  she  is  living,  just  let  me 
know,  Jane." 

"I  will  if  she  is  willing  to  have  me,"  answered 
Jane,  independently. 

"Look  here,  Jane,"  said  Curtis,  angrily,  "don't 
forget  that  you  are  not  her  servant,  but  my  uncle's. 
It  is  to  him  you  look  for  wages,  not  to  Miss  Flor- 
ence." 

"I  don't  need  to  be  told  that,  sir.^  I  know  that 
well  enough." 

"Then  you  know  that  it  is  to  him  that  your  faith- 
ful services  are  due,  not  to  Florence?" 

"I'm  faithful  to  both,  Mr.  Waring." 

"You  are  aware  that  my  uncle  is  justly  displeased 
with  my  cousin?" 

"I  know  he's  displeased,  but  I  am  sure  he  has  no 
good  reason  to  be." 

Curtis  Waring  bit  his  lips.  The  girl,  servant  as 
she  was,  seemed  to  be  openly  defying  him.  His  im- 
perious temper  could  ill  brook  this. 

"Take  care!"  he  said,  with  a  frown.  "You  seem 
to  be  lacking  in  respect  to  me.  You  don't  appear 
to  understand  my  position  in  this  house." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  do.  I  know  you  have  schemed  to  get 
my  poor  young  mistress  out  of  the  house,  and  have 
succeeded." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  69 

*'I  have  a  great  mind  to  discharge  you,  girl,"  said 
Curtis,  with  lowering  brow. 

"I  am  not  your  servant,  sir.  You  have  nothing 
to  do  with  me." 

"You  will  see  whether  I  have  or  not.  I  will  let 
you  remain  for  a  time,  as  it  is  your  attachment  to 
Miss  Florence  that  has  made  you  forget  yourself. 
You  will  find  that  it  is  for  your  interest  to  treat  me 
respectfully." 

A  feeble  step  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  John 
Linden  entered  the  breakfast-room.  His  face  was 
sad,  and  he  hgaved  a  sigh  as  he  glanced  mechani- 
cally at  the  head  of  the  table,  where  Florence  usu- 
ally sat. 

Curtis  Waring  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  placing 
himself  at  his  uncle's  side,  led  him  to  his  seat. 

"How  do  you  feel  this  morning,  uncle?"  he  asked, 
with  feigned  solicitude. 

"Ill,  Curtis.     I  didn't  sleep  well  last  night." 

"I  don't  wonder,  sir.    You  had  much  to  try  you." 

"Is — is  Florence  here?" 

"No,  sir,"  answered  Jane,  promptly.  "She  left 
the  house  an  hour  ago." 

A  look  of  pain  appeared  on  John  Linden's  pale 
face. 

"Did — did  she  leave  a  message  for  me?"  he  asked, 
slowly. 

"She  asked  me  to  bid  you  good-by  for  her,"  an- 
swered Jane,  quickly. 

"Uncle,  don't  let  yourself  be  disturbed  now  with 


70  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

painful  thoughts.    Eat  your  breakfast  first,  and  then 
we  will  speak  of  Florence." 

John  Linden  ate  a  very  light  breakfast.  He 
seemed  to  have  lost  his  appetite  and  merely  toyed 
with  his  food. 

When  he  arose  from  the  table,  Curtis  supported 
him  to  the  library. 

"It  is  very  painful  to  me — this  conduct  of  Flor- 
ence's, Curtis,"  he  said,  as  he  sank  into  his  arm- 
chair. 

"I  understand  it  fully,  uncle,"  said  Curtis. 
"When  I  think  of  it,  it  makes  me  very  angry  with 
the  misguided  girl." 

'Terhaps  I  have  been  too  harsh — too  stern!" 

"You,  uncle,  too  harsh!  Why,  you  are  the  soul 
of  gentleness.  Florence  has  shown  herself  very  un- 
grateful." 

"Yet,  Curtis,  I  love  that  girl.  Her  mother 
seemed  to  live  again  in  her.  Have  I  not  acted 
cruelly  in  requiring  her  to  obey  me  or  leave  the 
house?" 

"You  have  acted  only  for  good.  You  are  seek- 
ing her  happiness." 

"You  really  think  this,  Curtis?" 

"I  am  sure  of  it." 

"But  how  will  it  all  end?"  asked  Linden,  bend- 
ing an  anxious  look  upon  his  wily  nephew. 

"By  Florence  yielding." 

"You  are  sure  of  that?" 

"Yes.    Listen,  uncle;  Florence  is  only  capricious, 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  71 

like  most  girls  of  her  age.  She  foolishly  desires  to 
have  her  own  way.  It  is  nothing  more  serious,  I 
can  assure  you." 

*'But  she  has  left  the  house.  That  seems  to  show 
that  she  is  in  earnest." 

*'She  thinks,  uncle,  that  by  doing  so  she  can  bend 
you  to  her  wishes.  She  hasn't  the  slightest  idea  of 
any  permanent  separation.  She  is  merely  experi- 
menting upon  your  weakness.  She  expects  you  will 
recall  her  in  a  week,  at  the  latest.    That  is  all  of  it." 

Like  most  weak  men,  it  made  Mr.  Linden  angry 
to  have  his  strength  doubted. 

"You  think  that?"  he  said. 

*'I  have  no  doubt  of  it." 

"She  shall  find  that  I  am  resolute,"  he  said,  irri- 
tably.    "I  will  not  recall  her." 

"Bravo,  uncle!  Only  stick  to  that,  and  she  will 
yield  unconditionally  within  a  fortnight.  A  little 
patience,  and  you  will  carry  your  point.  Then  all 
will  be  smooth  sailing." 

"I  hope  so,  Curtis.  Your  words  have  cheered 
me.  I  will  be  patient.  But  I  hope  I  shan't  have  to 
wait  long.     Where  is  the  morning  paper?" 

"I  shall  have  to  humor  and  deceive  him,"  thought 
Curtis.  "I  shall  have  a  difficult  part  to  play,  but  I 
am  sure  to  succeed  at  last." 


72  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

FLORENCE    SECURES    EMPLOYMENT. 

For  a  few  days  after  being  installed  in  her  new 
home  Florence  was  like  one  dazed. 

She  could  not  settle  her  mind  to  any  plan  of  self- 
support. 

She  was  too  unhappy  in  her  enforced  exile  from 
her  home,  and  it  saddened  her  to  think  that  the 
uncle  who  had  always  been  so  kind  was  permanently 
estranged  from  her. 

Though  Mrs.  O'Keefe  was  kind,  and  Dodger  was 
her  faithful  friend,  she  could  not  accustom  herself 
to  her  poor  surroundings. 

She  had  not  supposed  luxury  so  essential  to  her 
happiness. 

It  was  worse  for  her  because  she  had  nothing  to 
do  but  give  way  to  her  morbid  fancies. 

This  Mrs.  O'Keefe  was  clear-sighted  enough  to 
see. 

"I  am  sorry  to  see  you  so  downcast  like,  my  dear 
young  lady,"  she  said. 

*'How  can  I  help  it,  Mrs.  O'Keefe?"  returned 
Florence. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  73 

"Try  not  to  think  of  your  wicked  cousin,  my 
dear." 

"It  isn't  of  him  that  I  think — it  is  of  my  uncle. 
How  could  he  be  so  cruel,  and  turn  against  me  after 
years  of  kindness?" 

"It's  that  wicked  Curtis  that  is  settin'  him  against 
you,  take  my  word  for  it,  Miss  Florence.  Shure, 
he  must  be  wake-minded  to  let  such  a  spalpeen  set 
him  against  a  swate  young  leddy  like  you." 

"He  is  weak  in  body,  not  in  mind,  Mrs.  O'Keefe. 
You  are  right  in  thinking  that  it  is  Curtis  that  is 
the  cause  of  my  misfortune." 

"Your  uncle  will  come  to  his  right  mind  some 
day,  never  fear!  And  now,  my  dear,  shall  I  give 
you  a  bit  of  advice?" 

"Go  on,  my  kind  friend.  I  will  promise  to  con- 
sider whatever  you  say." 

"Then  you'd  better  get  some  kind  of  work  to 
take  up  your  mind — a  bit  of  sewin',  or  writin',  or 
anything  that  comes  to  hand.  I  suppose  you 
wouldn't  want  to  mind  my  apple-stand  a  couple  of 
hours  every  day?" 

"No,"  answered  Florence.  "I  don't  feel  equal 
to  that." 

"It  would  do  you  no  end  of  good  to  be  out  in  the 
open  air.  It  would  bring  back  the  roses  to  your 
pale  cheeks.  If  you  coop  yourself  up  in  this  dark 
room,  you'll  fade  away  and  get  thin." 

"You  are  right.  I  will  make  an  effort  and  go 
out.    Besides,  I  must  see  about  work." 


74  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

Here  Dodger  entered  the  room  in  his  usual  breezy 
way. 

In  his  hand  he  brandished  a  morning  paper. 

*'How  are  you  feehn',  Florence?"  he  asked;  he 
had  given  up  saying  Miss  Florence  at  her  request. 
''Here's  an  advertisement  that'll  maybe  suit  you." 

''Show  it  to  me,  Dodger,"  said  Florence,  begin- 
ning to  show  some  interest. 

The  boy  directed  her  attention  to  the  following 
advertisement : 

"Wanted. — A  governess  for  a  girl  of  twelve. 
Must  be  a  good  performer  on  the  piano,  and  able  to 
instruct  in  French  and  the  usual  English  branches. 
Terms  must  be  moderate.  Apply  to  Mrs.  Leighton, 
at  127  W. Street." 

"There,  Florence,  w^hat  do  you  say  to  that? 
That's  better  than  sewin'." 

"I  don't  know,  Dodger,  whether  I  am  competent." 

"You  play  on  the  planner,  don't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Well  enough  to  teach?" 

"I  think  so ;  but  I  may  not  have  the  gift  of  teach- 
ing." 

"Yes,  you  have.  Haven't  you  been  teachin'  me 
every  evenin'?  You  make  everything  just  as  clear 
as  mud — no,  I  don't  mean  that.  You  just  explain 
so  that  I  can't  help  understandin'." 

"Then,"  said  Florence,  "I  suppose  I  am  at  liberty 
to  refer  to  you.'' 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  75 

''Yes ;  you  can  tell  the  lady  to  call  at  the  office  of 
Dodger,  Esq.,  any  mornin'  after  sunrise,  and  he'll 
give  her  full  particulars." 

Florence  did  not  immediately  decide  to  apply  for 
the  situation,  but  the  more  she  thought  of  it  the 
more  she  felt  inclined  to  do  so.  The  little  experienc: 
she  had  had  with  Dodger  satisfied  her  that  she 
should  enjoy  teaching  better  than  sewing  or  writing. 

Accordingly,  an  hour  later,  she  put  on  her  street 
dress  and  went  uptown  to  the  address  given  in  the 
advertisement. 

No.  127  was  a  handsome  brown-stone  house,  not 
unlike  the  one  in  which  Florence  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  live.  It  was  a  refreshing  contrast  to  the 
poor  tenement  in  which  she  lived  at  present. 

"Is  Mrs.  Leighton  at  home?"  inquired  Florence. 

"Yes,  miss,"  answered  the  servant,  respectfully. 
"Whom  shall  I  say?" 

"I  have  come  to  apply  for  the  situation  of  gov- 
erness," answered  Florence,  feeling  rather  awkward 
as  she  made  the  statement. 

"Ah,"  said  the  servant,  with  a  perceptible  decline 
in  respect.    "Won't  you  step  in  ?" 

"Thank  you." 

"Well,  she  do  dress  fine  for  a  governess,"  said 
Nancy  to  herself.     "It's  likely  she'll  put  on  airs." 

The  fact  v/as  that  Florence  was  dressed  according 
to  her  past  social  position — in  a  costly  street  attire — 
but  it  had  never  occurred  to  her  that  she  was  too 
well  dressed  for  a  governess. 


76  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

She  took  her  seat  in  the  drawing-room,  and  five 
minutes  later  there  was  a  rusthng  heard,  and  Mrs. 
Leighton  w^alked  into  the  room. 

''Are  you  the  apphcant  for  the  position  of  gov- 
erness?" she  asked,  surveying  the  elegantly  attired 
young  lady  seated  on  the  sofa. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Leighton,"  answered  Florence,  easily, 
for  she  felt  more  at  home  in  a  house  like  this  than 
in  the  tenement. 

''Have  you  taught  before?" 

"Very  little,"  answered  Florence,  smiling  to  her- 
self, as  she  wondered  what  Mrs.  Leighton  wouLl 
say  if  she  could  see  Dodger,  the  only  pupil  she  ever 
had.  "However,  I  like  teaching,  and  I  like  chil- 
dren." 

"Pardon  me,  but  you  don't  look  like  a  governess. 
Miss " 

"Linden,"  suggested  Florence,  filling  out  the  sen- 
tence.   "Do  governesses  have  a  peculiar  look?" 

"I  mean  as  to  dress.  You  are  more  expensively 
dressed  than  the  average  governess  can  afford." 

"It  is  only  lately  that  my  circumstances  required 
me  to  support  myself.  I  should  not  be  able  to  buy 
such  a  dress  out  of  my  present  earnings." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  for  I  do  not  pro- 
pose to  give  a  large  salary." 

"I  do  not  expect  one,"  said  Florence,  quietly. 

"You  consider  yourself  competent  to  instruct  in 
music,  French  and  the  English  branches?" 

"Oh,  yes." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  77 

^*Do  you  speak  French?" 

"Yes,  madam." 

"Would  you  favor  me  with  a  specimen  of  your 
piano  playing?" 

There  was  a  piano  in  the  back  parlor.  Florence 
removed  her  gloves,  and  taking  a  seat  before  it, 
dashed  into  a  spirited  selection  from  Strauss. 

Mrs.  Leighton  listened  with  surprised  approval. 

"Certainly  you  are  a  fine  performer,"  she  said. 
"What — if  I  should  engage  you — would  you  ex- 
pect in  the  way  of  compensation?" 

"How  much  time  would  you  expect  me  to  give?" 

"Three  hours  daily — from  nine  to  twelve." 

"I  hardly  know  what  to  say.  What  did  you  ex- 
pect to  pay?" 

"About  fifty  cents  an  hour." 

Florence  knew  very  well,  from  the  sums  that  had 
been  paid  for  her  own  education,  that  this  was  mis- 
erably small  pay;  but  it  was  much  more  than  she 
could  earn  by  sewing. 

"I  will  teach  a  month  on  those  terms,"  she  said, 
after  a  pause. 

Mrs.  Leighton  looked  well  pleased.  She  knew 
that  she  was  making  a  great  bargain. 

"Oh,  by  the  way,"  she  said,  "can  you  give  refer- 
ences?" 

"I  can  refer  you  to  Madam  Morrison,"  naming 
the  head  of  a  celebrated  female  seminary.  "She  edu- 
cated me." 

"That    will    be    quite    satisfactory,"    said    Mrs. 


78  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

Leighton,  graciously.    ''Can  you  begin  to-morrow?" 

"Yes,  madam." 

"You  will  then  see  your  pupil.  At  present  she  is 
out." 

Florence  bowed  and  withdrew. 

She  had  been  afraid  Mrs.  Leighton  would  inquire 
where  she  lived,  and  she  would  hardly  dare  to  name 
the  humble  street  which  she  called  home. 

She  walked  toward  Fifth  Avenue,  when,  just  as 
she  was  turning  the  corner,  she  met  Mr.  Percy  de 
Brabazon,  swinging  a  slender  cane,  and  dressed  in 
the  extreme  of  the  fashion. 

"Miss  Linden!"  he  exclaimed,  eagerly.  "This  is 
— aw — indeed  a  pleasure.  Where  are  you  walking 
this  fine  morning?  May  I — aw — have  the  pleasure 
of  accompanying  you?" 

Florence  stopped  short  in  deep  embarrassment. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  79 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A   FRIEND,   THOUGH    A  DUDE. 

Percy  de  Brabazon  looked  sincerely  glad  to 
meet  Florence,  and  she  herself  felt  some  pleasure  in 
meeting  one  who  reminded  her  of  her  former  life. 

But  it  was  quite  impossible  that  she  should  allow 
him  to  accompany  her  to  her  poor  home  on  the  East 
Side. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  de  Brabazon,  but  my  engage- 
ments this  morning  will  hardly  permit  me  to  accept 
your  escort,"  she  said. 

"I  suppose  that  means  that  you  are  going  shop- 
ping; but  I  don't  mind  it,  I  assure  you,  and  I  will 
carry  your  bundles,"  he  added,  magnanimously. 

"That  would  never  do.  What!  the  fashionable 
Mr.  de  Brabazon  carrying  bundles?  You  would 
lose  your  social  status." 

"I  don't  mind,  Miss  Florence,  as  long  as  you  give 
me — aw — an  approving  smile." 

"I  will  give  it  now,  as  I  bid  you  good-morning." 

"May  I — aw — have  the  pleasure  of  calling  upon 
you  to-morrow  evening,  Miss  Linden  ?" 

"It  is  evident  that  you  have  not  heard  that  I  am 
no  longer  residing  with  my  uncle.'* 


8o  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

Mr.  de  Brabazon  looked  surprised. 

"No,  I  had  not  heard.  May  I  ask — aw — where 
you  are  wesiding?" 

"With  friends,"  answered  Florence,  briefly.  "As 
you  are  a  friend  and  will  be  likely  to  hear  it,  I  may 
as  well  mention  that  my  uncle  is  displeased  with  me, 
and  has  practically  disowned  me." 

"Then,  Miss  Florence,"  said  Mr.  de  Brabazon, 
eagerly,  "won't  you  accept — aw — my  heart  and 
hand?  My  mother  will  be  charmed  to  receive  you, 
and  I — aw — will  strive  to  make  you  happy." 

"I  appreciate  your  devotion,  I  do,  indeed,  Mr.  de 
Brabazon,"  said  Florence,  earnestly;  "but  I  must 
decline  your  offer.     I  will  not  marry  without  love." 

"I  don't  mind  that,"  said  Percy,  "if  you'll  agree 
to  take  a  feller;  you'll  learn  in  time  to  like  him  a 
little.  I  am  wich — I  know  you  don't  care  for  that 
— but  I  can  give  you  as  good  a  home  as  your  uncle. 
If  you  would  give  me  hope — aw " 

"I  am  afraid  I  cannot,  Mr.  de  Brabazon,  but  if 
you  will  allow  me  to  look  upon  you  as  a  friend,  I 
will  call  upon  you  if  I  have  need  of  a  friend's  serv- 
ices." 

"Will  you,  weally?" 

"Yes,  there  is  my  hand  on  it.  I  ought  to  tell  you 
that  I  must  now  earn  my  own  living,  and  am  to  give 

lessons  to  a  young  pupil  in  West Street,  three 

hours  daily." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you  are  actually  poor?" 
said  Mr.  de  Brabazon,  horrified. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  8i 

"Yes,  indeed,  I  am." 

*Then,  won't  you  let  me  lend  you  some  money? 
I've  got  more  than  I  need,  I  have,  'pon  my  honor." 

"Thank  you,  I  promise  to  call  upon  you  if  I  need 
it." 

Mr.  de  Brabazon  looked  pleased. 

"Would  you  mind  telling  me  where  you  are  going 
to  teach,  Miss  Florence?" 

Florence  hesitated,  but  there  was  something  so 
sincere  and  friendly  in  the  young  man's  manner — • 
dude  though  he  was — that  she  consented  to  grant 
his  request. 

"I  am  to  teach  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Robert  Leigh- 
ton." 

"Why,  Miss  Leighton  is  my  cousin,"  said  Percy, 
in  joyous  excitement. 

"Indeed !  Had  I  known  that  I  would  hardly  have 
told  you." 

"Don't  be  afwaid!  I  will  be  vewy  discreet,"  said 
Mr.  de  Brabazon. 

"Thank  you,  and  good-morning." 

Florence  went  on  her  way,  cheered  and  encour- 
aged in  spite  of  herself,  by  her  success  in  obtaining 
employment,  and  by  the  friendly  offers  of  Mr.  de 
■  Brabazon. 

"It  is  wrong  to  get  discouraged,"  she  said  to  her- 
self. "After  all,  there  are  warm  hearts  in  the 
world." 

When  she  entered  her  humble  home,  she  found 
Dodger  already  there.     There  was  an  eagerness  in 


82  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

his  manner,  and  a  light  in  his  eye,  that  seemed  to 
indicate  good  news. 

''Well,  Dodger,  what  is  it?'* 

''I've  been  waitin'  half  an  hour  to  see  you,  Flor- 
ence," he  said.     "I've  got  some  work  for  you." 

'What  is  it — sewing  on  a  button,  or  mending  a 
coat?" 

"No,  I  mean  workin'  for  money.  You  can  play 
on  the  planner,  can't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"They  want  a  young  lady  to  play  the  planner  at  a 
dime  museum,  for  nine  dollars  a  week.  It's  a  bully 
chance.  I  just  told  the  manager — he's  a  friend  of 
mine — that  I  had  a  young  lady  friend  that  was  a 
stunnin'  player,  and  he  wants  you  to  come  around 
and  see  him." 

It  was  a  preposterous  idea — so  Florence  thought 
— that  she  should  consent  to  play  at  such  a  place ;  but 
she  couldn't  expect  Dodger  to  look  at  the  matter 
in  the  same  light,  so  she  answered,  very  gently  and 
pleasantly : 

"You  are  very  kind,  Dodger,  to  look  out  for  me, 
but  I  shall  not  need  to  accept  your  friend's  offer.  I 
have  secured  a  chance  to  teach  uptown." 

"You  have?    What'll  you  get?" 

"I  am  to  be  employed  three  hours  daily,  at  fifty 
cents  an  hour." 

"Geewhillikens!  that's  good!  You'd  have  to 
work  as  much  as  twelve  hours  at  the  museum  for 
the  same  pay." 


ADJ^IFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  83 

*'You  see,  therefore,  that  I  am  provided  for — 
that  is,  if  I  suit." 

Dodger  was  a  httle  disappointed.  Still,  he  could 
not  help  admitting  that  it  would  l^e  better  for  Flor- 
ence to  teach  three  hours,  than  to  work  ten  or  twelve. 
As  to  her  having  any  objection  to  appearing  at  a 
dime  museum,  that  never  occurred  to  him. 

Florence  had  sent  for  her  trunk,  and  it  was  now 
in  her  room. 

Dodger  accompanied  an  expressman  to  the 
house,  and  luckily  saw  Jane,  who  arranged  every- 
thing for  him. 

*'How's  the  old  gentleman?"  asked  Dodger. 
''Florence  wanted  me  to  ask." 

"He's  feeble,"  said  Jane,  shaking  her  head 

*'Does  he  miss  Florence?" 

"That  he  do." 

"Why  don't  he  send  for  her,  then,  to  come  back?" 
asked  Dodger,  bluntly. 

"Because  Curtis  Waring  makes  him  believe  she'll 
come  around  and  ask  forgiveness,  if  he  only  holds 
out.     I  tell  you.  Dodger,  that  Curtis  is  a  viper." 

"So  he  is,"  answered  Dodger,  who  was  not  quite 
clear  in  his  mind  as  to  what  a  viper  was.  "Fd  like 
to  step  on  his  necktie." 

"If  it  wasn't  for  him,  my  dear  young  mistress 
would  be  back  in  the  house  within  twenty-four 
hours." 

"I  don't  see  how  the  old  gentleman  can  let  him 
turn  Florence  out  of  the  house." 


84  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

**He's  a  snake  in  the  grass,  Dodger.  It  may  be 
wicked,  but  I  just  wish  something  would  happen  to 
him.  And  how  is  Miss  Florence  lookin',  poor 
dear?" 

''She's  lookin'  like  a  daisy." 

''Does  she  worry  much?" 

"She  did  at  first,  but  now  she's  workin'  every  day, 
and  she  looks  more  cheerful-like." 

"Miss  Florence  workin' !  She  that  was  always 
brought  up  like  a  lady!" 

"She's  teachin'  a  little  girl  three  hours  a  day." 

"Well,  that  isn't  so  bad!"  said  Jane,  relieved. 
"Teachin'  is  genteel.  I  wish  I  could  see  her  some 
day.  Will  you  tell  her,  Dodger,  that  next  Sunday 
is  my  day  out,  and  I'll  be  in  Central  Park  up  by  the 
menagerie  at  three  o'clock,  if  she'll  only  take  the 
trouble  to  be  up  there?" 

"I'll  tell  her,  Jane,  and  I'm  sure  she'll  be  there." 

A  day  or  two  afterward  Curtis  Waring  asked : 

"Have  you  heard  from  my  Cousin  Florence  since 
she  went  away?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Indeed!   Where  is  she  staying?" 

"She  didn't  send  me  word." 

"How,  then,  did  you  hear  from  her?" 

"Dodger  came  with  an  expressman  for  her 
trunk." 

Curtis  Waring  frowned. 

"And  you  let  him  have  it?"  he  demanded,  sternly. 

"Of  course  I  did.    Why  shouldn't  I  ?" 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  85 

"You  should  have  asked  me." 

"And  what  business  have  you  with  Miss  Flor- 
ence's trunk,  Fd  like  to  know?"  said  Jane,  inde- 
pendently. 

"Never  mind;  you  ought  to  have  asked  my  per- 
mission." 

"I  didn't  think  you'd  want  to  wear  any  of  Miss 
Florence's  things,  Mr.  Waring." 

"You  are  silly  and  impertinent,"  said  Curtis,  bit- 
ing his  lips.  "Did  that  boy  tell  you  anything  about 
her?" 

"Only  that  she  wasn't  worry  in'  any  for  you,  Mr. 
Curtis." 

Curtis  glanced  angrily  at  his  cousin's  devoted 
friend,  and  then,  turning  on  his  heel,  left  the  room. 

"I'll  bring  her  to  terms  yet,"  he  muttered.  "No 
girl  of  seventeen  shall  defy  me!" 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

TIM     BOLTON'S    saloon. 

Not  far  from  Houston  Street,  on  the  west  side  of 
the  Bowery,  is  an  underground  saloon,  with  whose 
proprietor  we  are  already  acquainted. 

It  was  kept  by  Tim  Bolton,  whose  peculiar  tastes 
and  shady  characteristics  well  fitted  him  for  such  a 
business. 

It  was  early  evening,  and  the  gas  jets  lighted  up 
a  characteristic  scene. 

On  the  sanded  floor  were  set  several  tables,  around 
which  were  seated  a  motley  company,  all  of  them 
with  glasses  of  beer  or  whiskey  before  them. 

Tim,  with  a  white  apron  on,  was  moving  about 
behind  the  bar,  ministering  to  the  wants  of  his  pa- 
trons. There  was  a  scowl  upon  his  face,  for  he  was 
not  fond  of  work,  and  he  missed  Dodger's  assistance. 

The  boy  understood  the  business  of  mixing  drinks 
as  well  as  he,  and  often  officiated  for  hours  at  a 
time,  thus  giving  his  guardian  and  reputed  father  a 
chance  to  leave  the  place  and  meet  outside  engage- 
ments. 

A  tall,  erect  gentleman  entered  the  saloon,  and 
.walked  up  to  the  bar. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  87 

"Good-evening-,  colonel,"  said  Tim. 

"Good-evening,  sir,"  said  the  newcomer,  v^ith  a 
stately  inclination  of  the  head. 

He  was  really  a  colonel,  having  served  in  the 
Civil  War  at  the  head  of  a  Georgia  regiment. 

He  had  all  the  stately  courtesy  of  a  Southern  gen- 
tleman, though  not  above  the  weakness  of  a  frequent 
indulgence  in  the  strongest  fluids  dispensed  by  Tim 
Bolton. 

"What'll  you  have,  colonel?" 

"Whiskey  straight,  sir.  It's  the  only  drink  fit  for 
a  gentleman.    Will  you  join  me,  Mr.  Bolton?" 

"Of  course,  I  will,"  said  Tim,  as,  pouring  out  a 
glass  for  himself,  he  handed  the  bottle  to  the  colonel. 

"Your  health,  sir,"  said  the  colonel,  bowing. 

"Same  to  you,  colonel,"  responded  Tim,  with  a 
nod. 

"Where's  the  boy?" 

Col.  Martin  had  always  taken  considerable  notice 
of  Dodger,  being  naturally  fond  of  boys,  and  having 
once  had  a  son  of  his  own,  who  was  killed  in  a  rail- 
road accident  when  about  Dodger's  age. 

"Danged  if  I  know!"  answered  Tim,  crossly. 

"He  hasn't  left  you,  has  he?" 

"Yes ;  he's  cleared  out,  the  ungrateful  young  imp ! 
I'd  like  to  lay  my  hands  on  the  young  rascal." 

"Was  he  your  son?" 

"He  was  my — stepson,"  answered  Tim,  hesitat- 
ing. 

"I  see,  you  married  his  mother." 


88  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

**Yes/'  said  Tim,  considering  the  explanation  sat- 
isfactory, and  resolved  to  adopt  it.  "I've  always 
treated  him  as  if  he  was  my  own  flesh  and  blood, 
and  I've  raised  him  from  a  young  kid.  Now  he's 
gone  and  left  me." 

''Can  you  think  of  any  reason  for  his  leaving 
you?" 

''Not  one.  I  always  treated  him  well.  He's  been 
a  great  expense  to  me,  and  now  he's  got  old  enough 
to  help  me  he  must  clear  out.  He's  the  most  un- 
grateful cub  I  ever  seen." 

"I  am  sorry  he  has  gone — I  used  to  like  to  have 
him  serve  me." 

"And  now  what's  the  consequence?  Here  I  am 
tied  down  to  the  bar  day  and  night." 

"Can't  you  get  some  one  in  his  place?" 

"Yes,  but  I'd  likely  be  robbed;  I  had  a  bartender 
once  who  robbed  me  of  two  or  three  dollars  a  day." 

"But  you  trusted  the  boy?" 

"Yes,  Dodger  wouldn't  steal — I  can  say  that 
much  for  him." 

"There's  one  thing  I  noticed  about  the  boy,'*  said 
the  colonel,  reflectively.  "He  wouldn't  drink. 
More  than  once  I  have  asked  him  to  drink  with  me, 
but  he  would  always  say,  'Thank  you,  colonel,  but  I 
don't  like  whiskey.'  I  never  asked  him  to  take  any- 
thing else,  for  whiskey's  the  only  drink  fit  for  a  gen- 
tleman.    Do  you  expect  to  get  the  boy  back?" 

"If  I  could  only  get  out  for  a  day  I'd  hunt  him 
tip;  but  I'm  tied  down  here." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  89 

**I  seed  him  yesterday,  Tim/'  said  a  red-nosed  man 
who  had  just  entered  the  saloon,  in  company  with  a 
friend  of  the  same  general  appearance.  Both  wore 
silk  hats,  dented  and  soiled  with  stains  of  dirt,  coats 
long  since  superannuated,  and  wore  the  general  look 
of  barroom  loafers. 

They  seldom  had  any  money,  but  lay  in  wait  for 
any  liberal  stranger,  in  the  hope  of  securing  a  free 
drink. 

''Where  did  you  see  him,  Hooker?"  asked  Tim 
Bolton,  with  sudden  interest. 

"Selling  papers  down  by  the  Astor  House.*' 

"Think  of  that,  colonel !"  said  Tim,  disgusted. 
"Becomin'  a  common  newsboy,  when  he  might  be 
in  a  genteel  employment!  Did  you  speak  to  him, 
Hooker?" 

"Yes,  I  asked  him  if  he  had  left  you.'* 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"That  he  had  left  you  for  good — that  he  was  go- 
ing to  grow  up  respectable!" 

"Think  of  that !"  said  Tim,  with  renewed  disgust. 
"Did  he  say  where  he  lived?" 

"No." 

"Did  he  ask  after  me?" 

"No,  except  he  said  that  you  were  no  relation  of 
his.  He  said  he  expected  you  stole  him  when  he  was 
a  kid,  and  he  hoped  some  time  to  find  his  rela- 
tions." 

Tim  Bolton's  face  changed  color,  and  he  was  evi- 
dently disturbed.     Could  the  boy  have  heard  any- 


90  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

thing?  he  wondered,  for  his  suspicions  were  very 
near  the  truth. 

*'It's  all  nonsense !"  he  said,  roughly.  "Next  time 
you  see  him,  Hooker,  foller  him  home,  and  find  out 
where  he  lives." 

"All  right,  Tim.  It  ought  to  be  worth  some- 
thing," he  insinuated,  with  a  husky  cough. 

"That's  so.    What'll  you  take?" 

"Whiskey,"  answered  Hooker,  with  a  look  of 
pleased  anticipation. 

"You're  a  gentleman,  Tim,"  he  said,  as  he  gulped 
down  the  contents  of  a  glass  without  winking. 

Briggs,  his  dilapidated  companion,  had  been  look- 
ing on  in  thirsty  envy. 

"I'll  help  Hooker  to  look  for  Dodger,"  he  said. 

"Very  well,  Briggs." 

"Couldn't  you  stand  a  glass  for  me,  too,  Tim?" 
asked  Briggs,  eagerly. 

"No,"  answered  Bolton,  irritably.  "I've  been  at 
enough  expense  for  that  young  rascal  already." 

But  the  colonel  noticed  the  pathetic  look  of  disap- 
pointment on  the  face  of  Briggs,  and  he  was  stirred 
to  compassion. 

"Drink  with  me,  sir,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  over- 
joyed Briggs. 

"Thank  you,  colonel.     You're  a  gentleman!" 

"Two  glasses,  Tim." 

So  the  colonel  drained  a  second  glass,  and  Briggs, 
pouring  out  with  trembling  fingers  as  much  as  he 
dared,  followed  suit. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  91 

When  the  last  drop  was  drunk,  he  breathed  a  deep 
sigh  of  measureless  enjoyment. 

**If  either  of  you  bring  that  boy  in  here,"  said 
Tim,  'Til  stand  a  couple  of  glasses  for  both." 

''We're  your  men,  Tim,"  said  Hooker.  "Ain't 
we,  Briggs?" 

'That's  so,  Hooker.     Shake!" 

And  the  poor  victims  of  drink  shook  hands  ener- 
getically. Long  since  they  had  sunk  their  manhood 
in  the  intoxicating  cup,  and  henceforth  lived  only  to 
gratify  their  unnatural  craving  for  what  would 
sooner  or  later  bring  them  to  a  drunkard's  grave. 

As  they  left  the  saloon,  the  colonel  turned  to  Tim, 
and  said : 

"I  like  whiskey,  sir;  but  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  can 
respect  such  men  as  those." 

"They're  bums,  colonel,  that's  what  they  are!" 

"How  do  they  live?" 

"Don't  know.    They're  in  here  about  every  day." 

"If  it's  drink  that's  brought  them  where  they  are, 
I'm  half  inclined  to  give  it  up;  but,  after  all,  it  isn't 
necessary  to  make  a  beast  of  yourself.  I  always 
drink  like  a  gentleman,  sir." 

"So  you  do,  colonel." 

At  that  moment  a  poor  woman,  in  a  faded  calico 
dress  with  a  thin  shawl  over  her  shoulders,  descended 
the  steps  that  led  into  the  saloon,  and  walked  up  to 
the  bar. 

"Has  my  husband  been  here  to-night?"  she  asked. 

Tim  Bolton  frowned. 


92  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"Who's  your  husband  ?"  he  asked,  roughly. 

^Wilson." 

*'No,  Bill  Wilson  hasn't  been  here  to-night.  Even 
if  he  had  you  have  no  business  to  come  after  him. 
I  don't  want  any  sniveling  women  here." 

''I  couldn't  help  it,  Mr.  Bolton,"  said  the  woman, 
putting  her  apron  to  her  eyes.  ''If  Bill  comes  in, 
won't  you  tell  him  to  com.e  home?  The  baby's  dead, 
and  we  haven't  a  cent  in  the  house!" 

Even  Tim  was  moved  by  this. 

'Til  tell  him,"  he  said.  "Take  a  drink  your- 
self; you  don't  look  strong.  It  shan't  cost  you  a 
cent." 

"No,"  said  the  woman,  "not  a  drop !  It  has  ruined 
my  happiness,  and  broken  up  our  home!  Not  a 
drop!" 

"Here,  my  good  lady,"  said  the  colonel,  with  chiv- 
alrous deference,  "you  have  no  money.  Take  this," 
and  he  handed  the  astonished  woman  a  five-dollar 
bill. 

"Heaven  bless  you,  sir !"  she  exclaimed,  fervently. 

"Allow  me  to  see  you  to  the  street,"  and  the  gal- 
lant Southern  gentleman  escorted  her  up  to  the  side- 
walk. 

"I'd  like  to  horsewhip  that  woman's  husband. 
Don't  you  sell  him  another  drop !"  he  said,  when  he 
returned. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  93 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE   MISSING    WILL. 

An  hour  after  the  depart  of  the  colonel  there 
was  an  unexpected  arrival. 

A  well-dressed  gentleman  descended  the  stairs 
gingerly,  looked  about  him  with  fastidious  disdain, 
and  walked  up  to  the  bar. 

Tim  Bolton  was  filling  an  order,  and  did  not  im- 
mediately observe  him. 

When  at  length  he  turned  around  he  exclaimed,  in 
some  surprise: 

*'Mr.  Waring !'' 

''Yes,  Bolton,  I  have  found  my  way  here." 

*'I  have  been  expecting  you." 

*'I  came  to  you  for  some  information." 

"Well,  ask  your  questions :  I  don't  know  whether 
I  can  answer  them." 

"First,  where  is  my  Cousin  Florence?" 

"How  should  I  know?  She  wasn't  likely  to  place 
herself  under  my  protection." 

"She's  with  that  boy  of  yours — Dodger,  I  believe 
you  call  him.     Where  is  he?" 

"Run  away,"  answered  Bolton,  briefly. 


94  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

*'Do  you  mean  that  you  don't  know  where  he  is  ?" 

"Yes,  I  do  mean  that.  I  haven't  set  my  eyes  on 
him  since  that  night." 

''What  do  you  mean  by  such  neghgence?  Do 
you  remember  who  he  is?" 

''Certainly  I  do." 

"Then  why  do  you  let  him  get  of  your  reach?" 

"How  could  I  help  it?  Here  I  am  tied  down  to 
this  bar  day  and  night!  I'm  nearly  dead  for  want 
of  sleep." 

"It  would  be  better  to  close  up  your  place  for  a 
week  and  look  after  him." 

"Couldn't  do  it.  I  should  lose  all  my  trade.  Peo- 
ple would  say  I  was  closed  up." 

"And  have  you  done  nothing  toward  his  recov- 
ery?" 

"Yes,  I  have  sent  out  two  men  in  search  of  him." 

"Have  you  any  idea  where  he  is,  or  what  he  is 
doing?" 

"Yes,  he  has  been  seen  in  front  of  the  Astor 
House,  selling  papers.  I  have  authorized  my  agent, 
if  he  sees  him  again,  to  follow  him  home,  and  find 
out  where  he  lives." 

"That  is  good !  Astor  House?  I  may  see  him  my- 
self." 

"But  why  do  you  want  to  see  him  ?  Do  you  want 
to  restore  him  to  his  rights?" 

"Hush!"  said  Curtis,  glancing  around  him  ap- 
prehensively. "What  we  say  may  be  overheard  and 
excite  suspicion.    One  thing  may  be  secured  by  find- 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  95 

ing  him — the  knowledge  of  Florence's  where- 
abouts." 

"What  makes  you  think  she  and  the  boy  are  to- 
gether?" 

''He  came  for  her  trunk.  I  was  away  from  home, 
or  I  would  not  have  let  it  go " 

"It  is  strange  that  they  two  are  together,  consid- 
ering their  relationship." 

"That  is  what  I  am  afraid  they  will  find  out.  She 
may  tell  him  of  the  mysterious  disappearance  of  her 
cousin,  and  he " 

"That  reminds  me,"  interrupted  Bolton.  "He 
told  Hooker — Hooker  was  the  man  that  saw  him  in 
front  of  the  Astor  House — that  he  didn't  believe  I 
was  his  father.  He  said  he  thought  I  must  have 
stolen  him  when  he  was  a  young  kid." 

"Did  he  say  that?"  asked  Curtis,  in  evident 
alarm. 

"Yes,  so  Hooker  says." 

"If  he  has  that  idea  in  his  head,  he  may  put  two 
and  two  together,  and  guess  that  he  is  the  long-lost 
cousin  of  Florence.  Tim,  the  boy  must  be  got  rid 
of." 

"If  you  mean  what  I  think  you  do,  Mr.  Waring, 
I'm  not  with  you.    I  won't  consent  to  harm  the  boy." 

"You  said  that  before.  I  don't  mean  anything 
that  will  shock  your  tender  heart,  Bolton,"  said 
Curtis,  with  a  sneer.  "I  mean  carried  to  a  distance 
— Europe  or  Australia,  for  instance.  All  I  want 
is  to  keep  him  out  of  New  York  till  my  uncle  is 


96  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

dead.    After  that  I  don't  care  what  becomes  of  him/' 

'That's  better.  I've  no  objection  to  that.  How 
is  the  old  gentleman?" 

*'He  grieved  so  much  at  first  over  the  girl's  loss, 
that  I  feared  he  would  insist  on  her  being  recalled 
at  once.  I  soothed  him  by  telling  him  that  he  had 
only  to  remain  firm,  and  she  would  come  around, 
and  yield  to  his  wishes." 

*'Do  you  think  she  will?"  asked  Tim,  doubtfully. 

**I  intend  she  shall!"  said  Curtis,  significantly. 
^'Bolton,  I  love  the  girl  all  the  more  for  her  obstinate 
refusal  to  wed  me.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to 
marry  her  with  her  consent,  or  without  it." 

*'I  thought  itwas  only  the  estate  you  were  after?" 

"I  want  the  estate  and  her  with  it.  Mark  my 
words,  Bolton,  I  will  have  both !" 

"You  will  have  the  estate,  no  doubt;  Mr.  Linden 
has  made  his  will  in  your  favor,  has  he  not?"  and 
Bolton  looked  intently  in  the  face  of  his  visitor. 

''Hark  you,  Bolton,  there  is  a  mystery  I  cannot 
fathom.  My  uncle  made  two  wills.  In  the  earlier, 
he  left  the  estate  to  Florence  and  myself,  if  we  mar- 
ried; otherwise,  to  me  alone." 

"That  is  satisfactory." 

"Yes,  but  there  was  another,  in  which  the  estate 
goes  to  the  son,  if  living.  That  will  has  disap- 
peared." 

"Is  it  possible?"  asked  Bolton,  in  astonishment. 
"When  was  it  missed  ?" 

"On  the  night  of  the  burglary." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  97 

*Then  you  think ■' 

*That  the  boy,  Dodger,  has  it.  Good  Heavens! 
if  he  only  knew  that  by  this  will  the  estate  goes  to 
him!"  and  Waring  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his 
brow. 

''You  are  sure  he  did  not  give  you  the  will?"  he 
demanded,  eying  Bolton  sharply. 

"1  have  not  seen  him  since  the  night  of  the  rob- 
bery." 

"If  he  has  read  the  will,  it  may  lead  to  dangerous 
"suspicions." 

''He  would  give  it  to  your  cousin,  Florence,  would 
lie  not?" 

"Perhaps  so.  Bolton,  you  must  get  the  boy  back, 
^nd  take  the  will  from  him,  if  you  can." 

"I  will  do  my  best;  but  you  must  remember  that. 
Dodger  is  no  longer  a  small  kid.  He  is  a  boy  of 
eighteen,  strong  and  well  grown.  He  wouldn't  be 
easy  to  manage.  Besides,  as  long  as  he  doesn't  know 
that  he  has  any  interest  in  the  will,  his  holding  it 
won't  do  any  harm.  Is  the  old  gentleman  likely  to 
live  long?" 

"I  don't  know.     I  sometimes  hope Pshaw! 

why  should  I  play  the  hypocrite  when  speaking  to 
you?  Surely  it  is  no  sin  to  wish  him  better  off, 
since  he  can't  enjoy  life !" 

"He  might  if  Florence  and  his  son  were  restored 
to  him." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Bolton?"  asked  Curtis,  sus- 
piciously. 


98  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

*'What  could  I  mean?  It  merely  occurred  to 
me,"  said  Bolton,  innocently.  ''You  say  he  is  quiet, 
thinkin'  the  girl  will  come  around?" 

"Yes." 

"Suppose  time  passes,  and  she  doesn't?  Won't 
he  try  to  find  her?  As  she  is  in  the  city,  that  won't 
be  hard." 

"I  shall  represent  that  she  has  left  the  city." 

"For  any  particular  point?" 

*'No,  that  is  not  necessary." 

**And  then?" 

"If  he  worries  himself  into  the  grave,  so  much 
the  better  for  me." 

"There  is  no  halfway  about  you,  Mr.  Curtis 
Waring." 

"Why  should  there  be?  Listen,  Bolton;  I  have 
set  my  all  on  this  cast.  I  am  now  thirty-six,  and 
still  I  am  dependent  upon  my  uncle's  bounty.  I  am 
in  debt,  and  some  of  my  creditors  are  disposed  to 
trouble  me.  My  uncle  is  worth — I  don't  know  how 
niuch,  but  I  think  half  a  million.  What  does  he 
p^et  out  of  it  ?  Food  and  clothes,  but  not  happiness. 
If  it  were  mine,  all  the  avenues  of  enjoyment  would 
be  open  to  me.     That  estate  I  must  have." 

"Suppose  you  get  it,  what  is  there  for  me?"  asked 
Bolton. 

"I  will  see  that  you  are  recompensed  if  you  help 
ine  to  it." 

"Will  you  put  that  in  writing?" 

"Do  you  take  me  for  a  fool  ?     To  put  It  in  writ- 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  99 

ing  would  be  to  place  me  in  your  power !  You  can 
trust  me." 

"Well,  perhaps  so,"  said  Tim  Bolton,  slowly. 

"At  any  rate  you  will  have  to.  Well,  good-night. 
I  will  see  you  again.  In  the  meantime  try  to  fina 
tlie  boy." 

Tim  Bolton  followed  him  with  his  eyes,  as  he 
left  the  saloon. 

"What  would  he  say,"  said  Bolton  to  himself, 
"if  he  knew  that  the  will  he  so  much  wishes  to  find 
is  in  my  hands,  and  that  I  hold  him  in  my  power 
already?" 


100         ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


THE     NEW     GOVERNESS. 


"Wish  me  luck,  Dodger  !'* 

"So  I  do,  Florence.  Are  you  goin'  to  begin  teach- 
in'  this  mornin'?" 

"Yes;  and  I  hope  to  produce  a  favorable  impres- 
sion. It  is  very  important  to  me  to  please  Mrs, 
Leighton  and  my  future  pupil." 

"Fm  sure  you'll  suit.     How  nice  you  look!" 

Florence  smiled,  and  looked  pleased.  She  had 
taken  pains  with  her  dress  and  personal  appearance, 
and,  being  luckily  well  provided  with  handsome 
dresses,  had  no  difficulty  in  making  herself  presenta- 
ble. As  she  stepped  out  of  the  shabby  doorway 
upon  the  sidewalk  no  one  supposed  her  to  be  a  ten- 
ant, but  she  was  generally  thought  to  be  a  visitor, 
periiaps  the  agent  of  some  charitable  association. 

"Perhaps  all  will  not  judge  me  as  favorably  as 
you  do,  Dodger,"  said  Florence,  with  a  laugh. 

"If  you  have  the  headache  any  day,  Florence,  I'll 
take  your  place." 

"You  would  look  rather  young  for  a  tutor.  Dod- 
ger, and  I  am  afraid  you  would  not  be  dignified. 
<jOod-morning !    I  shall  be  back  to  dinner." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  loi 

"I  am  glad  to  find  you  punctual,  Miss  Linden," 
said  Mrs.  Leighton,  as  Florence  was  ushered  into 
her  presence.  'This  is  your  pupil,  my  daughter, 
Carrie." 

Florence  smiled  and  extended  her  hand. 

*1  hope  we  will  like  each  other,"  she  said. 

The  little  girl  eyed  her  with  approval.  This 
beautiful  young  lady  was  a  pleasant  surprise  to  her, 
for,  never  having  had  a  governess,  she  expected  to 
meet  a  stiff,  elderly  lady,  of  stern  aspect.  She 
readily  gave  her  hand  to  Florence,  and  looked  re- 
lieved. 

''Carrie,"  said  Mrs.  Leighton,  "you  may  show 
Miss  Linden  the  way  to  the  schoolroom." 

"All  right,  mamma,"  and  the  little  girl  led  the 
way  upstairs  to  a  back  room  on  the  third  floor. 

"So  this  is  to  be  our  schoolroom,  is  it,  Carrie?" 
said  Florence.     "It  is  a  very  pleasant  room." 

"Yes ;  but  I  should  have  preferred  the  front  cham- 
ber. Mamma  thought  that  I  might  be  looking  into 
the  street  too  much.  Here  there  is  only  a  back 
yard,  and  nothing  to  look  at." 

"Your  mamma  seems  very  judicious,"  said  Flor- 
ence, smiling.     "Are  you  fond  of  study?" 

"Well,  I  ain't  exactly  fond,  but  I  will  do  my 
best." 

"That  is  all  that  can  be  expected." 

"Do  you  know.  Miss  Linden,  you  don't  look  at 
all  like  I  expected." 

"Am  I  to  be  glad  or  sorry  for  that?" 


102  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

''I  thought  you  would  be  an  old  maid,  stiff  and 
starched,  like  May  Robinson's  governess." 

''I  am  not  married,  Carrie,  so  perhaps  you  may 
regard  me  as  an  old  maid." 

"You'll  never  be  an  old  maid,"  said  Carrie,  con- 
fidently.    "You  are  too  young  and  pretty." 

"Thank  you,  Carrie,"  said  Florence,  with  a  lit-. 
tie  blush.  "You  say  that,  I  hope,  because  you  are 
going  to  like  me." 

"I  like  you  already,"  said  the  little  girl,  impul- 
sively.    "I've  got  a  cousin  that  will  like  you,  too." 

"A  young  girl  ?" 

"No;  of  course  not.  He  is  a  young  man.  Flis 
name  is  Percy  de  Brabazon.  It  is  a  funny  name, 
isn't  it?     You  see,  his  father  was  a  Frenchman." 

Florence  was  glad  that  she  already  knew  from 
Percy's  own  mouth  of  the  relationship,  as  it  saved 
her  from  showing  a  degree  of  surprise  that  might 
have  betrayed  her  acquaintance  with  the  young 
man. 

"What  makes  you  think  your  cousin  would  like 
me,  Carrie?" 

"Because  he  always  likes  pretty  girls.  He  is  a 
masher.'* 

"That's  slang,  Carrie.  I  am  sure  your  mamma 
wouldn't  approve  your  using  such  a  word." 

"Don't  tell  her.  It  just  slipped  out.  But  about 
Percy — he  wants  very  much  to  be  married." 

Florence  was  not  surprised  to  hear  this,  for  she 
had  the  best  reason  for  knowing  it  to  be  true. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  103 

*'Is  he  a  handsome  young  man?"  she  asked,  de- 
murely. 

"He's  funny  looking.  He's  awful  good-natured, 
but  he  isn't  the  sort  of  young  man  I  would  like," 
concluded  Carrie,  with  amusing  positiveness. 

"I  hope  you  don't  let  your  mind  run  on  such 
things.     You  are  quite  too  young." 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  much  about  it.  But  Percy 
is  a  dude.  He  spends  a  sight  for  clothes.  He  al- 
ways looks  as  if  he  had  just  come  out  of  a  band- 
box." 

"Is  he  in  any  business?" 

"No;  he  has  an  independent  fortune,  so  mamma 
says.     He  was  in  Europe  last  year." 

"I  think,  Carrie,  we  must  give  up  talking  and  at- 
tend to  business.  I  should  have  checked  you  be- 
fore, but  I  thought  a  little  conversation  would  help 
us  to  get  acquainted.  Now  show  me  your  books, 
and  I  will  assign  your  lessons." 

"Don't  give  me  too  long  lessons,  please.  Miss 
Linden." 

"I  will  take  care  not  to  task  you  beyond  your 
strength.  I  don't  want  my  pupil  to  grow  sick  on 
my  hands." 

"I  hope  you  won't  be  too  strict.  When  May 
Robinson  makes  two  mistakes  her  governess  makes 
her  learn  her  lessons  over  again." 

"I  will  promise  not  to  be  too  strict.  Now  let  me 
see  your  books." 

The  rest  of  the  forenoon  was  devoted  to  study. 


104  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

Florence  was  not  only  an  excellent  scholar,  but 
she  had  the  art  of  imparting  knowledge,  and,  what 
is  very  important,  she  was  able  in  a  few  luminous 
words  to  explain  difficulties  and  make  clear  what 
seemed  to  her  pupil  obscure. 

So  the  time  slipped  quickly  and  pleasantly  away, 
and  it  was  noon  before  either  she  or  her  pupil  real- 
ized it. 

''It  can't  be  twelve,"  said  Carrie,  surprised. 

*'Yes,  it  is.  We  must  defer  further  study  till 
to-morrow." 

*'Why,  it  is  a  great  deal  pleasanter  than  going 
to  school,  Miss  Linden.  I  dreaded  studying  at 
home,  but  now  I  like  it." 

"I  hope  you  will  continue  to,  Carrie.  I  can  say 
that  the  time  has  passed  away  pleasantly  for  fne." 

As  Florence  prepared  to  resume  her  street  dress, 
Carrie  said : 

''Oh,  I  forgot!  Mamma  asked  me  to  invite  you 
to  stay  to  lunch  with  me.  I  take  lunch  as  soon  as 
school  is  out,  at  twelve  o'clock,  so  I  won't  detain 
you  long." 

"Thank  you,  Carrie ;  I  will  stay  with  pleasure." 

"I  am  glad  of  that,  for  I  don't  like  to  sit  down 
to  the  table  alone.  Mamma  is  never  here  at  this 
time.  She  goes  out  shopping  or  making  calls,  so 
poor  I  have  to  sit  down  to  the  table  alone.  It  will 
be  ever  so  much  pleasure  to  have  you  with  me." 

Florence  was  by  no  means  sorry  to  accept  the 
invitation. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  105 

The  meals  she  got  at  home  were  by  no  means 
luxurious,  and  the  manner  of  serving  them  was  by 
no  means  what  she  enjoyed. 

Mrs.  O'Keefe,  though  a  good  friend  and  a  kind- 
hearted  woman,  was  not  a  model  housekeeper,  and 
Florence  had  been  made  fastidious  by  her  early 
training.  Lunch  was,  of  course,  a  plain  meal,  but 
what  was  furnished  was  of  the  best  quality,  and 
the  table  service  was  such  as  might  be  expected  in 
a  luxurious  home. 

Just  as  Florence  v/as  rising  from  the  table,  Mrs. 
Leighton  entered  the  room  in  street  dress. 

"I  am  glad  you  remained  to  lunch.  Miss  Linden,'^ 
she  said.  "You  will  be  company  for  my  little  girl, 
who  is  very  sociable.  Carrie,  I  hope  you  w^ere  a 
good  girl,  and  gave  Miss  Linden  no  trouble." 

"Ask  Miss  Linden,  mamma,"  said  Carrie,  con- 
fidently. 

"Indeed,  she  did  very  well,"  said  Florence.  "I 
foresee  that  we  shall  get  along  admirably." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  that.  She  is  apt  to  be  in« 
dolent." 

"I  won't  be  with  Miss  Linden,  mamma.  She 
makes  the  studies  so  interesting." 

After  Florence  left  the  house,  Carrie  pronounced 
an  eulogium  upon  her  which  led  Mrs.  Leighton 
to  congratulate  herself  upon  having  secured  a  gov- 
erness who  had  produced  so  favorable  an  impres- 
sion on  her  little  girl. 

"Was  you  kept  after  school,   Florence?"   asked 


io6  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

Dodger,  as  she  entered  her  humble  home.  **I  am 
afraid  you'll  find  your  dinner  cold." 

''Never  mind,  Dodger.  I  am  to  take  dinner — 
or  lunch,  rather — at  the  house  where  I  am  teach- 
ing; so  hereafter  Mrs.  O'Keefe  need  not  wait  for 
me." 

''And  how  do  you  like  your  place?" 

"It  is  everything  that  is  pleasant.  You  wished  me 
good  luck,  Dodger,  and  your  wish  has  been 
granted." 

"I  was  lucky,  too,  Florence.  I've  made  a  dol- 
lar and  a  quarter  this  mornin'." 

"Not  by  selling  papers,  surely?" 

"Not  all.  A  gentleman  gave  me  fifty  cents  for 
takin'  his  valise  to  the  Long  Branch  boat." 

"It  seems  we  are  both  getting  rich,"  said  Flor- 
ence, smiling. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  107 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

DODGER  BECOMES  AMBITIOUS. 

"Ah,  there,  Dodger!" 

Dodger,  who  had  been  busily  and  successfully 
selHng  evening  papers  in  front  of  the  Astor  House, 
turned  quickly  as  he  heard  his  name  called. 

His  glance  rested  on  two  men,  dressed  in  soiled 
white  hats  and  shabby  suits,  who  were  apparently 
holding  each  other  up,  having  both  been  imbib- 
ing. 

He  at  once  recognized  Hooker  and  Briggs,  for  he 
had  waited  upon  them  too  many  times  in  Tim's 
saloon  not  to  recognize  them. 

''Well,"  he  said,  cautiously,  "what  do  you  want?" 

"Tim  has  sent  us  for  you!"  answered  the  two, 
in  unison. 

"What  does  he  want  of  me?" 

"He  wants  you  to  come  home.  He  says  he  can't 
get  along  without  you." 

"He  will  have  to  get  along  without  me,"  said 
the  boy,  independently.  "Tell  him  I'm  not  goin' 
back!" 

"You're  wrong.  Dodger,"  said  Hooker,  shaking 
his  head,  solemnly.     "Ain't  he  your  father?" 

"No,  he  ain't.'* 


io8  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

''He  says  he  is,"  continued  Hooker,  looking  puz- 
zled. 

"That  don't  make  it  so." 

"He  ought  to  know,"  put  in  Briggs. 

"Yes;  he  ought  to  know!"  chimed  in  Hooker, 

"No  doubt  he  does,  but  he  can't  make  me  believe 
he's  any  relation  of  mine." 

"Just  go  and  argy  the  point  with  him,"  said 
Hooker,  coaxingly. 

"It  wouldn't  do  no  good." 

"Maybe  it  would.  Just  go  back  with  us,  that's 
a  good  boy." 

"What  makes  you  so  anxious  about  it?"  asked 
Dodger,  suspiciously. 

"Well,"  said  Hooker,  coughing,  "we're  Tim's 
friends,  don't  you  know." 

"What's  he  goin'  to  give  you  if  I  go  back  w^ith 
you?"  asked  the  boy,  shrewdly. 

"A  glass  of  whiskey!"  replied  Hooker  and  Briggs 
in  unison. 

"Is  that  all?" 

"Maybe  he'd  make  it  two." 

"I  won't  go  back  with  you,"  said  Dodger,  after 
a  moment's  thought;  "but  I  don't  want  you  to  lose 
anything  by  me.  Here's  a  dime  apiece,  and  you 
can  go  and  get  a  drink  somewhere  else." 

"You're  a  trump,  Dodger,"  said  Hooker,  eagerly 
holding  out  his  hand. 

"I  always  liked  you,  Dodger,"  said  Briggs,  with 
a  similar  motion. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  109 

"Now,  don't  let  Tim  know  you've  seen  me,"  said 
the  newsboy,  warningly. 

"We  won't." 

And  the  interesting  pair  ambled  off  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Bowery. 

"So  Tim  sent  them  fellers  after  me?"  soliloqized 
Dodger.  "I  guess  I'll  have  to  change  my  office, 
or  maybe  Tim  himself  will  be  droppin'  down  on  me 
some  mornin'.  It'll  be  harder  to  get  rid  of  him 
than  of  them  chumps." 

So  it  happened  that  he  used  to  take  down  his 
morning  papers  to  the  piers  on  the  North  River, 
and  take  his  chance  of  selling  them  to  passengers 
from  Boston  and  others  ports  arriving  by  the  Fall 
River  boats,  and  others  from  different  points. 

The  advantage  of  this  was  that  he  often  got 
a  chance  to  serve  as  guide  to  strangers  visiting  the 
city  for  the  first  time,  or  as  porter,  to  carry  their 
valise  or  other  luggage. 

Being  a  bright,  wideawake  boy,  with  a  pleasant 
face  and  manner,  he  found  his  services  considerably 
in  demand;  and  on  counting  up  his  money  at  the 
end  of  the  week,  he  found,  much  to  his  encourage- 
ment, that  he  had  received  on  an  average  about  a 
dollar  and  twenty-five  cents  per  day. 

"That's  better  than  sellin'  papers  alone,"  thought 
he.  "Besides,  Tim  isn't  likely  to  come  across  me 
here.  I  wonder  I  didn't  think  of  settin'  up  for  my- 
self before!" 

In  the  evening  he  spent  an  hour,  and  sometimes 


no  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

more,  pursuing  his  studies,  under  the  direction  of 
Florence.  At  first  his  attention  was  given  chiefly 
to  improving  his  reading  and  spelHng,  for  Dodger 
v^as  far  from  fluent  in  the  first,  while  his  style  of 
spelling  many  words  was  strikingly  original. 

''Ain't  I  stupid,  Florence?"  he  asked  one  day, 
after  spelling  a  word  of  three  syllables  with  sue-- 
ingenious  incorrectness  as  to  convulse  his  young 
teacher  with  merriment. 

''Not  at  all,  Dodger.  You  are  making  excellent 
progress;  but  sometimes  you  are  so  droll  that  I 
can't  help  laughing." 

"I  don't  mind  that  if  you  think  I  am  really  gettin' 
on." 

"Undoubtedly  you  are!" 

"I  make  a  great  many  mistakes,"  said  Dodger, 
dubiously. 

"Yes,  you  do;  but  you  must  remember  that  you 
have  taken  lessons  only  a  short  time.  Don't  you 
think  you  can  read  a  good  deal  more  easily  than  you 
did?" 

"Yes;  I  don't  trip  up  half  so  often  as  I  did.  I'm 
afraid  you'll  get  tired  of  teachin'  me." 

"No  fear  of  that,  Dodger.  As  long  as  I  see  that 
you  are  improving,  I  shall  feel  encouraged  to  go 
on." 

"I  wish  I  knew  as  much  as  your  other  scholar." 

"You  will  in  time  if  you  go  on.  You  mustn't 
get  discouraged." 

"I   won't!"   said   Dodger,   stoutly.      "If  a   little 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  iii 

gal  like  her  can  learn,  I'd  ought  to  be  ashamed  if 
I  don't- -a  big  boy  of  eighteen." 

"It  isn't  the  size  of  the  boy  that  counts,  Dodger." 

"I  know  that,  but  I  ain't  goin'  to  give  in,  and 
let  a  little  gal  get  ahead  of  me!" 

"Keep  to  that  determination,  Dodger,  and  you  will 
succeed  in  time,  never  fear." 

On  the  whole,  Florence  enjoyed  both  her  pupils. 
She  had  the  faculty  of  teaching,  and  she  became 
very  much  interested  in  both. 

As  for  Dodger,  she  thought,  rough  diamond  as 
he  was,  that  she  saw  in  him  the  making  of  a  manly 
man,  and  she  felt  that  it  was  a  privilege  to  assist 
in  the  development  of  his  intellectual  nature. 

Again,  he  had  picked  up  a  good  deal  of  slang 
from  the  nature  of-  his  associates,  and  she  set  to 
work  to  improve  his  language,  and  teach  him  re- 
finement. 

It  was  necessarily  a  slow  process,  but  she  began 
to  find  after  a  time  that  a  gradual  change  was  com- 
ing over  him. 

"I  want  you  to  grow  up  a  gentleman,  Dodger," 
she  said  to  him  one  day. 

"I'm  too  rough  for  that,  Florence.  I'm  only  an 
ignorant  street  boy.'* 

"You  are  not  going  to  be  an  ignorant  street  boy 
all  your  life.  I  don't  see  why  you  should  not  grow- 
up  a  polished  gentleman." 

"I  shall  never  be  like  that  de  Brabazon  young 


112  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"No,  Dodger;  I  don't  think  you  will,"  said  Flor- 
ence, laughing.  ''I  don't  want  you  to  become  ef- 
feminate nor  a  dude.  I  think  I  would  like  you  less 
than  I  do  now." 

''Do  you  like  me,  Florence?"  asked  Dodger, 
brightening  up. 

"To  be  sure  I  do.     I  hope  you  don't  doubt  it." 

"Why,  it  don't  seem  natural-like.  You're  a  fash- 
ionable young  lady " 

"Not  very  fashionable.  Dodger,  just  at  present." 

"Well,  a  high-toned  young  lady — one  of  the  tip- 
tops, and  I  am  a  rough  Bowery  boy." 

"You  were  once,  but  you  are  getting  over  that 
rapidly.     Did  you  ever  hear  of  Andy  Johnson  ?" 

"Who  was  he?" 

"He  became  President  of  the  United  States.  Well, 
at  the  age  of  twenty-one  he  could  neither  read  nor 
write." 

"At  twenty-one?"  repeated  Dodger.  "Why,  I'm 
only  eighteen,  and  I  do  know  something  of  readin' 
and  writin'." 

"To  be  sure!  Well,  Andy  Johnson  was  taught 
to  read  and  write  by  his  wife.  He  kept  on  im- 
proving himself  till,  in  course  of  time,  he  became  a 
United  States  Senator,  Vice-President,  and  after- 
ward. President.  Now,  I  don't  expect  you  to  equal 
him,  but  I  see  no  reason  why  you  should  not  be- 
come a  well-educated  man  if  you  are  content  to 
work,  and  keep  on  working." 

"I  will  keep  on,  Florence,"  said  Dodger,  earnestly. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  113 

"li  I  ever  find  my  relations  I  don't  want  them  to 
be  ashamed  of  me." 

It  was  not  the  first  time  he  had  referred  to  his 
uncertain  origin. 

''Won't  Tim  Bolton  tell  you  anything  about  your 
family?" 

"No;  I've  asked  him  more'n  once.  He  always 
says  he's  my  father,  and  that  makes  me  mad.'* 

"It  is  strange,"  said  Florence,  thoughtfully.  "I 
had  a  young  cousin  stolen  many  years  ago." 

"Was  it  the  son  of  the  old  gentleman  you  lived 
with  on  Madison  Avenue?" 

"Yes;  it  was  the  son  of  Uncle  John.  It  quite 
broke  him  down.  After  my  cousin's  loss  he  felt 
that  he  had  nothing  to  live  for." 

"I  wish  I  was  your  cousin,  Florence,"  said  Dod- 
ger, thoughtfully. 

"Well,  then,  I  will  adopt  you  as  my  cousin,  or 
brother,  whichever  you  prefer!" 

"I  would  rather  be  your  cousin." 

"Then  cousin  let  it  be!  Now  we  are  bound  to 
each  other  by  strong  and  near  ties." 

"But  when  your  uncle  takes  you  back  you'll  for- 
get all  about  poor  Dodger." 

"No,  I  won't.  Dodger.  There's  my  hand  on  it. 
Whatever  comes,  we  are  friends  forever." 

"Then  I'll  try  not  to  disgrace  you,  Florence.  I'll 
learn  as  fast  as  I  can,  and  see  if  I  don't  grow  up 
to  be  a  gentleman." 


114  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A     MYSTERIOUS     ADVENTURE. 

Several  weeks  passed  without  changing  in  any 
way  the  position  or  employment  of  Dodger  or  Flor- 
ence. 

They  had  settled  down  to  their  respective  forms 
of  labor,  and  were  able  not  only  to  pay  their  mod- 
est expenses,  but  to  save  up  something  for  a  rainy 
day. 

Florence  had  but  one  source  of  regret. 

She  enjoyed  her  work,  and  did  not  now  lament 
the  luxurious  home  which  she  had  lost. 

But  she  did  feel  sore  at  heart  that  her  uncle  made 
no  sign  of  regret  for  their  separation. 

From  him  she  received  no  message  of  forgiveness 
or  reconciliation. 

"He  has  forgotten  me!"  she  said  to  herself,  bit- 
terly. ''He  has  cast  me  utterly  out  of  his  heart. 
I  do  not  care  for  his  money,  but  I  do  not  like  to 
think  that  my  kind  uncle — for  he  was  always  kind 
till  the  last  trouble — has  steeled  his  heart  against 
me  forever." 

But  she  learned  through  a  chance  meeting  with 
Jane,  that  this  was  not  so. 

**Mr.  Linden  is  getting  very  nervous  and  low- 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  115 

spirited,"  said  the  girl,  *'and  sits  hour  after  hoiir 
in  the  library  looking  into  the  fire,  a-fotchin'  deep 
sighs  every  few  minutes.  Once  I  saw  him  with 
your  photograph — the  one  you  had  taken  last  spring 
— in  his  hands,  and  he  looked  sad-like  when  he  laid 
it  down." 

"My  dear  uncle !  Then  he  does  think  of  me  some- 
times?" 

"It's  my  belief  he'd  send  for  you  if  Curtis  would 
let  him." 

"Surely  Curtis  cannot  exercise  any  restraint  upon 
him?" 

"He  has  frequent  talks  with  the  old  gentleman. 
I  don't  know  what  he  says,  but  it's  sure  to  be  some- 
thing wicked.  I  expect  he  does  all  he  can  to  set 
him  against  you.  Oh,  he's  a  cunning  villain,  he 
is,  even  if  he  is  your  cousin.  Miss  Florence." 

"And  do  you  think  my  uncle  is  unhappy,  Jane?" 
said  Florence,  thoughtfully. 

"That  I  do,  miss." 

"He  never  was  very  bright  or  cheerful,  you 
know." 

"But  he  never  was  like  this.  And  I  do  think 
he's  gettin'  more  and  more  feeble." 

"Do  you  think  I  ought  to  call  upon  him,  and 
risk  his  sending  me  away  ?" 

"It  might  be  worth  tryin',  Miss  Florence." 

The  result  of  this  conversation  was  that  Florence 
did  make  up  her  mind  the  very  next  afternoon  to 
seek  her  old  home.     She  had  just  reached  the  front 


ii6  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

steps,  and  was  about  to  ascend,    when    the    door 
opened  and  Curtis  appeared. 

He  started  at  sight  of  his  cousin. 

"Florence!"  he  said.     'Tell  me  why  you  came 
here?" 

*'I  am  anxious  about  my  uncle,"  she  said.    "Tell 
m.e,  Curtis,  how  he  is." 

"You  know  he's  never  in  vigorous  health,"  said 
Curtis,  evasively. 

"But  is  he  as  well  as  usual?" 

"He  is  about  the  same  as  ever.  One  thing  would 
do  more  for  him  than  anything  else." 

"What's  that?" 

"Your  agreement  to  marry  me,"  and  he  fixed  his 
eyes  upon  her  face  eagerly. 

Florence  shook  her  head. 

"I  should  be  glad  to  help  my  uncle,"  she  said, 
"but  I  cannot  agree  to  marry  you." 

"Why  not?"  he  demanded,  roughly. 

"Because  I  do  not  love  you,  and  never  shall,"  she 
responded,  firmly. 

"In  other  words,  you  refuse  to  do  the  only  thing 
that  will  restore  our  uncle  to  health  and  happiness  ?" 

"It  is  too  much  to  ask."  Then,  fixing  her  eyes 
upon  him  keenly:  "Why  should  uncle  insist  upon 
this  marriage  ?  Is  it  not  because  you  have  influenced 
him  in  the  matter?" 

"No,"  answered  Curtis,  falsely.  "He  has  some 
secret  reason,  which  he  will  not  disclose  to  me,  for 
desiring  it." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  117 

Florence  had  learned  to  distrust  the  words  of  her 
wily  cousin. 

"May  I  not  see  him?"  she  asked.  "Perhaps  he 
will  tell  me." 

"No;  I  cannot  permit  it." 

"You  cannot  permit  it?  Are  you,  then,  our  un- 
cle's guardian?" 

"No,  and  yes.  I  do  not  seek  to  control  him,  but 
I  wish  to  save  him  from  serious  agitation.  Should 
he  see  you,  and  find  that  you  are  still  rebellious,  the 
shock  might  kill  him." 

"I  have  reason  to  doubt  your  words,"  said  Flor- 
ence, coldly.  "I  think  you  are  resolved  to  keep  us 
apart." 

"Listen,  and  I  will  tell  you  a  secret;  Uncle  John 
has  heart  disease,  so  the  doctor  assures  me.  Any 
unwonted  agitation  might  kill  him  instantly.  I  am 
sure  you  would  not  like  to  expose  him  to  such  a 
risk." 

He  spoke  with  apparent  sincerity,  but  Florence 
did  not  feel  certain  that  his  words  were  truthful. 

"Very  well,"  she  said.  "Then  I  will  give  up  see- 
ing him." 

"It  is  best,  unless  you  are  ready  to  accede  to  his 
wishes — and  mine." 

She  did  not  answer,  but  walked  away  slowly. 

"It  would  never  do  to  have  them  meet!"  mut- 
tered Curtis.  "The  old  gentleman  would  ask  her 
to  come  back  on  any  terms,  and  then  all  my  schem- 
ing would  be  upset.     That  was  a  happy  invention 


ii8  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

of  mine,  about  heart  disease,"  he  continued,  with 
a  low  laugh.  'Though  she  only  half  believed  it, 
she  will  not  dare  to  run  the  risk  of  giving  him  a 
shock." 

It  was  about  this  time  that  the  quiet  tenor  of 
Dodger's  life  was  interrupted  by  a  startling  event. 

He  still  continued  to  visit  the  piers,  and  one  after- 
noon about  six  o'clock,  he  stood  on  the  pier  await- 
ing the  arrival  of  the  day  boat  from  Albany,  with 
a  small  supply  of  evening  papers  under  his  arm. 

He  had  sold  all  but  half  a  dozen  when  the  boat 
touched  the  pier.  He  stood  watching  the  various 
passengers  as  they  left  the  boat  and  turned  their 
steps  in  different  directions,  when  some  one  touched 
him  on  the  shoulder. 

Looking  up,  he  saw  standing  at  his  side  a  man 
of  slender  figure,  with  gray  hair  and  whiskers. 

''Boy,"  he  said,  "I  am  a  stranger  in  the  city.  Can 
I  ask  your  assistance?" 

"Yes,  sir;  certainly,"  answered  Dodger,  briskly. 

"Do  you  know  where  the  nearest  station  of  the 
elevated  road  is?" 

"Yes,  sir?" 

"I  want  to  go  uptown,  but  I  know  very  little 
about  the  city.  Will  you  accompany  me  as  guide? 
I  will  pay  you  well." 

"All  right,  sir,"  answered  Dodger. 

It  was  just  the  job  he  was  seeking. 

"We  will  have  to  walk  a  few  blocks,  unless  you 
want  to  take  a  carriage." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  119 

*'It  isn't  necessary.  I  am  strong,  in  spite  of  my 
gray  hair." 

And  indeed  he  appeared  to  be. 

Dodger  noticed  that  he  walked  with  the  elastic 
step  of  a  young  man,  while  his  face  certainly 
showed  no  trace  of  wrinkles. 

"I  live  in  the  West,"  said  the  stranger,  as  they 
walked  along.  '^1  have  not  been  here  for  ten 
years." 

^'Then  you  have  never  ridden  on  the  elevated 
road?"  said  Dodger. 

"N-no,"  answered  the  stranger,  with  curious  hesi- 
tation. 

Yet  when  they  reached  the  station  he  went  up  the 
staircase  and  purchased  his  ticket  with  the  air  of 
a  man  who  was  thoroughly  accustomed  to  doing  it. 

''I  suppose  you  don't  want  me  any  longer,"  said 
Dodger,  preparing  to  resign  the  valise  he  was  car- 
rying, and  which,  by  the  way,  was  remarkably  light 
considering  the  size. 

''Yes,  I  shall  need  you,"  said  the  other  hurriedly. 
'There  may  be  some  distance  to  walk  after  we  get 
uptow^n." 

"All  right,  sir." 

Dodger  was  glad  that  further  service  was  re- 
quired, for  this  would  of  course  increase  the  com- 
pensation which  he  would  feel  entitled  to  ask. 

They  entered  one  of  the  cars,  and  sat  down  side 
by  side. 

The  old  gentleman  drew  a  paper  from  his  pocket, 


120  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

and  began  to  read,  while  Dodger,  left  to  his  own 
devices,  sat  quiet  and  looked  about  him. 

He  was  rather  surprised  that  the  old  gentleman, 
who,  according  to  his  own  representation,  was  rid- 
ing upon  the  elevated  road  for  the  first  time,  seemed 
to  feel  no  curiosity  on  the  subject,  but  conducted 
himself  in  all  respects  like  an  experienced  traveler. 

*'He's  a  queer  customer!"  thought  Dodger. 
"However,  it's  all  one  to  me,  as  long  as  he  pays  me 
well  for  the  job." 

They  got  out  at  One  Hundred  and  Twenty-fifth 
Street,  and  struck  down  toward  the  river.  Dodger 
carrying  the  valise. 

*1  wonder  where  we're  going?"  he  asked  him- 
self. 

At  length  they  reached  a  wooden  house  of  three 
stories,  standing  by  itself,  and  here  the  stranger 
stopped. 

He  rang  the  bell,  and  the  door  was  opened  by  a 
hump-backed  negro,  who  looked  curiously  at 
Dodger. 

*'Is  the  room  ready,  Julius?"  asked  the  old  man. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Boy,  take  the  valise  upstairs,  and  I  will  follow 
you." 

Up  two  flights  of  stairs  walked  Dodger,  followed 
by  the  old  man  and  the  negro. 

The  latter  opened  the  door  of  a  back  room,  and 
Dodger,  obedient  to  directions,  took  the  valise  in- 
side and  deposited  it  on  a  chair. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  121 

He  had  hardly  done  so  when  the  door  closed  be- 
hind him,  and  he  heard  the  slipping  of  a  bolt. 

''What  does  all  this  mean?"  Dodger  asked  him- 
self in  amazement. 


122  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

IN  A  TRAP. 

"Hold  on  there !  Open  that  door !"  he  exclaimed, 
aloud. 

There  was  no  answer. 

"I  say,  let  me  out!"  continued  our  hero,  begin- 
ning to  kick  at  the  panels. 

This  time  there  was  an  answer. 

''Stop  that  kicking,  boy!  I  will  come  back  in 
fifteen  minutes  and  explain  all." 

''Well,"  thought  Dodger,  "this  is  about  the 
strangest  thing  that  ever  happened  to  me.  How- 
ever, I  can  wait  fifteen  minutes." 

He  sat  down  on  a  cane  chair — there  were  two 
in  the  room — and  looked  about  him. 

He  was  in  an  ordinary  bedroom,  furnished  in  the 
usual  manner.  There  was  nothing  at  all  singular 
in  its  appearance. 

On  a  book  shelf  were  a  few  books,  and  some  old 
numbers  of  magazines.  There  was  one  window 
looking  into  a  back  yard,  but  as  the  room  was  small 
it  was  sufficient  to  light  the  apartment. 

Dodger  looked  about  in  a  cursory  manner,  not 
feeling  any  particular  interest  in  his  surroundings, 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  123 

for  he  had  but  fifteen  minutes  to  wedt,  but  lie 
thought  it  rather  queer  that  it  should  be  tliouglit 
necessary  to  lock  him  in. 

He  waited  impatiently  for  the  time  to  pass. 

Seventeen  minutes  had  passed  when  he  heard 
the  bolt  drawn.  Fixing  his  eyes  eagerly  on  the  door 
he  saw  it  open,  and  two  persons  entered. 

One  was  the  hump-backed  negro,  carrying  on  a 
waiter  a  plate  of  buttered  bread,  and  a  cup  of  tea; 
the  other  person  was — not  the  old  man,  but,  to 
Dodger's  great  amazement,  a  person  well-remem- 
bered, though  he  had  only  seen  him  once — Curtis 
Waring. 

''Set  down  the  waiter  on  the  table,  Julius,"  said 
Waring. 

Dodger  looked  on  in  stupefaction.  He  was  get- 
ting more  and  more  bewildered. 

''Now,  you  can  go!"  said  Curtis,  in  a  tone  of 
authority. 

The  negro  bowed,  and  after  he  had  disposed  of 
the  waiter,  withdrew. 

"Do  you  know  me,  boy?"  asked  Curtis,  turning 
now  and  addressing  Dodger. 

"Yes;  you  are  Mr.  Waring." 

"You  remember  where  you  last  saw  me?" 

"Yes,  sir.  At  your  uncle's  house  on  Madison 
Avenue." 

"Quite  right." 

"How  did  you  come  here?  Where  is  the  old 
man  whose  valise  I  brought  from  the  Albany  boat  ?'* 


124  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

Curtis  smiled,  and  drew  from  his  pocket  a  gray 
wig  and  whiskers. 

''You  understand  now,  don't  you?'* 
"Yes,  sir;  I  understand  that  I  have  been  got  here 
by  a  trick." 

**Yes,"  answered  Curtis,  coolly.  "I  have  deemed 
it  wise  to  use  a  little  stratagem.  But  you  must  be 
hungry.  Sit  down  and  eat  your  supper  while  I  am 
talking  to  you." 

Dodger  was  hungry,  for  it  was  past  his  usual 
supper  time,  and  he  saw  no  reason  why  he  should 
not  accept  the  invitation. 

Accordingly,  he  drew  his  chair  up  to  the  table 
and  began  to  eat.  Curtis  seated  himself  on  the 
other  chair. 

''I  have  a  few  questions  to  ask  you,  and  that  is 
w^hy  I  arranged  this  interview.  We  are  quite  by 
ourselves,"  he  added,  significantly. 

"Very  well,  sir;  go  ahead." 

"Where  is  my  Cousin  Florence?  I  am  right,  I 
take  it,  in  assuming  that  you  know  where  she  is." 

"Yes,  sir;  I  know,"  answered  Dodger,  slowly. 

"Very  well,  tell  me." 

"I  don't  think  she  wants  you  to  know." 

Curtis  frowned. 

"It  is  necessary  I  should  know!"  he  said,  em- 
phatically. 

"I  will  ask  her  If  I  may  tell  you." 

"I  can't  wait  for  that.  You  must  tell  me  at 
once." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  125 

"I  can't  do  that." 

"You  are  mistaken;  you , can  do  it." 

*Then,  I  won't!"  said  Dodger,  looking  his  com- 
panion full  in  the  face. 

Curtis  Waring  darted  a  wicked  look  at  him,  and 
seemed  ready  to  attack  the  boy  who  was  audacious 
enough  to  thwart  him,  but  he  restrained  himself  and 
said: 

"Let  that  pass  for  the  present.  I  have  another 
question  to  ask.  Where  is  the  document  you  took 
from  my  uncle's  desk  on  the  night  of  the  bur- 
glary?" 

And  he  emphasized  the  last  word. 

Dodger  looked  surprised. 

"I  took  no  paper,"  he  said. 

"Do  you  deny  that  you  opened  the  desk?"  asked 
Curtis. 

"No." 

"When  I  came  to  examine  the  contents  in  the 
presence  of  my  uncle,  it  was  found  that  a  document 
— ^his  will — had  disappeared,  and  with  it  a  consider- 
able sum  of  money." 

And  he  looked  sharply  at  Dodger. 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  it,  sir.  I  took 
nothing." 

"You  can  hardly  make  me  believe  that.  Why 
did  you  open  the  desk  if  you  did  not  propose  to 
take  anything?" 

"I  did  intend  to  take  something.  I  was  under 
orders  to  do  so,  for  I  wouldn't  have  done  it  of  my 


126  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

own  free  will;  but  the  moment  I  got  the  desk  open 
I  heard  a  cry,  and  looking  around,  I  saw  Miss  Flor- 
ence looking  at  me." 

"And  then?" 

"I  was  startled,  and  ran  to  her  side  " 

"And  then  you  went  back  and  completed  the  rob- 
bery?" 

"No,  I  didn't.  She  talked  to  me  so  that  I  felt 
ashamed  of  it.  I  never  stole  before,  and  I  wouldn't 
have  tried  to  do  it  then,  if — if  some  one  hadn't 
told  me  to." 

"I  know  whom  you  mean — Tim  Bolton." 

"Yes,  Tim  Bolton,  since  you  know." 

"What  did  he  tell  you  to  take?" 

"The  will  and  the  money." 

"Eactly.  Now  we  are  coming  to  it.  You  took 
them,  and  gave  them  to  him?" 

"No,  I  didn't.  I  haven't  seen  him  since  that 
night." 

Curtis  Waring  regarded  the  boy  thoughtfully. 
His  story  was  straightforward,  and  it  agreed  with 
the  story  told  by  Tim  himself.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  he  denied  taking  the  missing  articles,  and  yet 
they  had  disappeared. 

Curtis  decided  that  both  he  and  Tim  had  lied, 
and  that  this  story  had  been  concocted  between 
them. 

Probably  Bolton  had  the  will  and  the  money — 
the  latter  he  did  not  care  for — and  this  thought  made 
him  uneasy,  for  he  knew  that  Tim  Bolton  was  an 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  127 

unscrupulous  man,  and  quite  capable  of  injuring 
him,  if  he  saw  the  way  clear  to  do  so. 

*'My  young  friend,"  he  said,  "your  story  is  not 
even  plausible.  The  articles  are  missing,  and  there 
was  no  one  but  yourself  and  Florence  who  were 
in  a  position  to  take  them.  Do  you  wish  me  to 
think  that  my  Cousin  Florence  robbed  the  desk  ?" 

"No,  sir;  I  don't.  Florence  wouldn't  do  such 
a  thing,"  said  Dodger,  warmly. 

"Florence.  Is  that  the  way  you  speak  of  a  young- 
lady?" 

"She  tells  me  to  call  her  Florence.  I  used  to 
call  her  Miss  Florence,  but  she  didn't  care  for  it." 

"It  seems  you  two  have  become  very  intimate," 
said  Curtis,  with  a  sneer. 

"Florence  is  a  good  friend  to  me.  I  never  had 
so  good  a  friend  before." 

"All  that  is  very  affecting;  however,  it  isn't  to 
the  point.  Do  you  know,"  he  continued,  in  a 
sterner  tone,  "that  I  could  have  you  arrested  for 
entering  and  breaking  open  my  uncle's  desk  with 
burglarious  intent?" 

"I  suppose  you  could,"  said  Dodger;  "but  Flor- 
ence would  testify  that  I  took  nothing." 

"Am  I  to  understand,  then,  that  you  refuse  to 
give  me  any  information  as  to  'the  will  and  the 
money?" 

"No,  sir;  I  don't  refuse.  I  would  tell  you  if 
I  knew." 

Curtis  regarded  the  boy  in  some  perplexity. 


128  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

He  had  every  appearance  of  telling  the  truth. 

Dodger  had  one  of  those  honest,  truthful  counte- 
nances which  lend  confirmation  to  any  words  spoken. 
If  the  boy  told  the  truth,  what  could  have  become 
of  the  will — and  the  money?  As  to  the  former,  it 
might  be  possible  that  his  uncle  had  destroyed  it, 
but  the  disappearance  of  the  money  presented  an 
independent  difficulty. 

*'The  will  is  all  I  care  for,"  he  said,  at  length. 
*'The  thief  is  welcome  to  the  money,  though  there 
was  a  considerable  sum." 

''I  would  find  the  will  for  you  if  I  could,"  said 
Dodger,  earnestly. 

''You  are  positive  you  didn't  give  it  to  Bolton?" 

"Positive,  sir.  I  haven't  seen  Tim  since  that 
night." 

"You  may  be  speaking  the  truth,  or  you  may 
not.  I  will  talk  with  you  again  to-rnorrow,"  and 
Curtis  arose  from  his  chair. 

"You  don't  mean  to  keep  me  here?"  said  Dodger, 
in  alarm. 

"I  shall  be  obliged  to  do  so." 

"I  won't  stay!"  exclaimed  Dodger,  in  excitement, 
and  he  ran  to  the  door,  meaning  to  get  out;  but 
Curtis  drew  a  pistol  from  his  pocket  and  aimed  it 
at  the  boy. 

"Understand  me,  boy,"  he  said,  "I  am  in  ear- 
nest, and  I  am  not  to  be  trifled  with." 

Dodger  drew  back,  and  Curtis  opened  the  door 
and  went  out,  bolting  it  after  him. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  129 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

AN  ATTEMPT  TO  ESCAPE. 

While  Dodger  had  no  discomfort  to  complain 
of,  it  occurred  to  him  that  Florence  would  be 
alarmed  by  his  long  absence,  for  now  it  seemed  cer- 
tain that  he  would  have  to  remain  overnight. 

If  only  he  could  escape  he  would  take  care  not 
to  fall  into  such  a  trap  again. 

He  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out,  but  the 
distance  to  the  ground  was  so  great — for  the  room 
was  on  the  third  floor — that  he  did  not  dare  to  im- 
peril his  life  by  attempting  a  descent. 

If  there  had  been  a  rope  at  hand  he  would  not 
have  felt  afraid  to  make  the  attempt. 

He  examine  d  the  bed  to  see  if  it  rested  upon  cords, 
but  there  were  slats  instead. 

As  has  already  been  said,  there  were  no  houses 
near  by. 

That  part  of  the  city  had  not  been  much  settled, 
and  it  was  as  solitary  as  it  is  in  the  outskirts  of  a 
country  village. 

If  he  could  only  reveal  his  position  to  some  per- 


130  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

son  outside,  so  as  to  insure  interference,  he  might 
yet  obtain  his  freedom. 

With  this  thought  he  tore  a  blank  leaf  from  one 
of  the  books  in  the  room,  and  hastily  penciled  the 
following  lines : 

*'l  am  kept  a  prisoner  in  this  house.  I  was  in- 
duced to  come  here  by  a  trick.  Please  get  some 
one  to  join  you,  and  come  and  demand  my  release." 

Some  weeks  before  Dodger  could  not  have  writ- 
ten so  creditable  a  note,  but  he  had  greatly  improved 
since  he  had  been  under  the  influence  and  instruc- 
tion of  Florence. 

Dodger  now  posted  himself  at  the  window  and 
waited  anxiously  for  some  one  to  pass,  so  that  he 
might  attract  his  attention  and  throw  down  the 
paper. 

He  had  to  wait  for  fifteen  minutes.  Then  he  saw 
approaching  a  young  man,  not  far  from  twenty- 
one,  who  looked  like  a  young  mechanic,  returning 
from  his  daily  work. 

Now  was  Dodger's  opportunity.  Ht  put  his  head 
out  of  the  window  and  called  out: 

"Hello,  there!" 

The  young  man  looked  and  saw  him  at  the  win- 
dow. 

''What  do  you  want?"  he  asked. 

*'Catch  this  paper,  and  read  what  there  is  on  it." 

He  threw  down  the  leaf,  which,  after  fluttering 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  1131 

in  the  gentle  evening  breeze,  found  its  way  to  the 
ground  and  was  picked  up. 

After  reading  it,  the  young  man  looked  up  and 
said:  'Til  go  around  to  the  door  and  inquire." 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word.  He  went  to  the 
outer  door  and  rang  the  bell. 

Julius  came  to  the  door. 

**What's  wanted,  boss?"  he  said. 

"You've  got  a  boy  locked  up  in  a  room." 

"Who  told  you,  boss?" 

"He  threw  down  a  paper  to  me,  telling  me  he  was 
kept  a  prisoner." 

"What  did  he  say?"  asked  Julius. 

The  young  man  read  the  note  aloud. 

"What  have  to  say  to  that,  you  black  imp?"  he 
demanded,  sternly. 

The  ready  wit  of  Julius  served  him  in  this  emer- 
gency. 

"Dat  boy  is  crazy  as  a  loon,  boss !"  he  answered, 
readily.  "We  have  to  keep  him  shut  up  for  fear 
he'll  kill  some  of  us." 

"You  don't  say !"  ejaculated  the  young  mechanic. 
"He  don't  look  like  it." 

"No,  he  don't;  dat's  a  fact,  boss.  Fact  is,  dat 
boy  is  the  artfullest  lunytick  you  ever  seed.  He 
tried  to  kill  his  mother  last  week." 

"Is  that  true?" 

"Dat's  so,  boss.  And  all  de  while  he  looks  as 
innocent  as  a  baby.  If  I  was  to  let  him  put  he'd  kill 
somebody,  sure." 


132  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

**I  never  would  have  believed  it,"  said  the  young 
man. 

"If  you  want  to  take  the  risk,  boss,  you  might  go 
up  and  see  him.  I  believe  he's  got  a  carvin'-knife 
about  him,  but  I  don't  dare  to  go  up  and  get  it 
away.  It  would  be  as  much  as  this  niggah's  life 
is  worth." 

"No,"  answered  the  young  man,  hastily.  "I 
don't  want  to  see  him.  I  never  did  like  crazy  folks. 
I'm  sorry  I  gave  you  the  trouble  to  come  to  the 
door." 

"Oh,  no  trouble,  boss." 

"I  guess  I've  fixed  dat  boy!"  chuckled  Julius. 
**Ho,  ho!  he  can't  get  ahead  of  old  Julius!  Crazy 
as  a  loon,  ho,  ho!" 

Dodger  waited  anxiously  for  the  young  man  to 
get  through  his  interview.  He  hoped  that  he  would 
force  his  way  up  to  the  third  floor,  draw  the  bolt, 
and  release  him  from  his  imprisonment. 

He  kept  watch  at  the  window,  and  when  the 
young    man  reappeared,  he  looked  at  him  eagerly. 

"Did  you  ask  them  to  let  me  out?"  he  shouted. 

The  other  looked  up  at  him  with  an  odd  expres- 
sion of  suspicion  and  repulsion. 

"You're  better  off  where  you  are,"  he  said,  rather 
impatiently. 

"But  they  have  locked  me  up  here/* 

"And  reason  enough,  too !" 

"What  makes  you  say  that?" 

"Because  you're  crazy  as  a  loon." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  133 

''Did  the  black  man  say  that?"  inquired  Dodger, 
indignantly. 

''Yes,  he  did — said  you  tried  to  kill  your  mother, 
and  had  a  carving-knife  hidden  in  the  room." 

"It's  a  lie — an  outrageous  lie!"  exclaimed  Dod- 
ger, his  eyes  flashing. 

"Don't  go  into  one  of  your  tantrums,"  said  the 
man,  rather  alarmed;  "it  won't  do  any  good." 

"But  I  want  you  to  understand  that  I  am  no  more 
crazy  than  you  are." 

"Sho?  I  know  better.  Where's  your  carving- 
knife?" 

"I  haven't  got  any;  I  never  had  any.  That  ne- 
gro has  been  telling  you  lies.  Just  go  to  the  door 
again,  and  insist  on  seeing  me." 

"I  wouldn't  dast  to.  You'd  stab  me,"  said  the 
man,  fearfully.- 

"Listen  to  me!"  said  Dodger,  getting  out  of  pa- 
tience. "I'm  not  crazy.  I'm  a  newsboy  and  bag- 
gage-smasher. An  old  man  got  me  to  bring  his 
valise  here,  and  then  locked  me  up.  Won't  you  go 
around  to  the  station-house  and  send  a  policeman 
here?" 

"I'll  see  about  it,"  said  the  young  man,  who  did 
not  believe  a  word  that  Dodger  had  said  to  him. 

"He  won't  do  it!"  said  Dodger  to  himself,  in  a 
tone  of  discouragement.  "That  miserable  nigger 
has  made  him  believe  I  am  a  lunatic.  I'll  have  him 
up,  anyway." 

Forthwith  he  began  to  pound  and  kick  so  forcibly; 


134  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

that  Julius  came  upstairs  on  a  run,  half  inclined  to 
believe  that  Dodger  had  really  become  insane. 

"What  do  you  want,  boy?"  he  inquired  from  out- 
side the  door. 
^     *'I  want  you  to  unbolt  the  door  and  let  me  out." 

'1  couldn't  do  it,  nohow,"  said  Julius.  *lt  would 
be  as  much  as  my  place  is  worth." 

*'I  will  give  you  a  dollar — five  dollars — if  you  will 
only  let  me  out.  The  man  who  brought  me  here 
is  a  bad  man,  who  is  trying  to  cheat  his  cousin — a 
young  lady — out  of  a  fortune." 

*'Don't  know  nothin'  'bout  that,"  said  Julius. 

*TIe  has  no  right  to  keep  me  here." 

''Don't  know  nothin'  'bout  that,  either.  I'm  act- 
in'  accordin'  to  orders." 

"Look  here,"  said  Dodger,  bethinking  himself 
of  what  had  just  happened.  "Did  you  tell  that 
young  man  who  called  here  just  now  that  I  was 
crazy?" 

Julius  burst  into  a  loud  guffaw. 

"I  expect  I  did,"  he  laughed.  "Said  you'd  got 
a  long  carvin'-knife  hid  in  de  room." 

"What  made  you  lie  so?"  demanded  Dodger, 
sternly. 

"Couldn't  get  rid  of  him  no  other  way.  Oh, 
how  scared  he  looked  when  I  told  him  you  tried  to 
kill  your  mother." 

And  the  negro  burst  into  another  hearty  laugh 
which  exasperated  Dodger  exceedingly. 

"How  long  is  Mr.  Waring   going   to    keep   me 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  135 

here?  Did  he  tell  you?"  Dodger  asked,  after  a 
pause. 

"No;  he  didn't  say/* 

"When  is  he  coming  here  again?" 

"Said  he'd  come  to-morrow  most  likely/* 

"Will  you  bring  me  a  light?" 

"Couldn't  do  it.     You'd  set  the  house  on  fire." 

It  seemed  useless  to  prolong  the  conversation. 

Dodger  threw  himself  on  the  bed  at  an  early  hour, 
but  he  did  not  undress,  thinking  there  might  pos- 
sibly be  a  chance  to  escape  during  the  night. 

But  the  morning  came  and  found  him  still  a  pris- 
oner, but  not  in  the  solitary  dwelling. 


1^6  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


A      MIDNIGHT      RIDE 


Curtis  Waring  had  entrapped  Dodger  for  a  dou- 
ble purpose. 

It  was  not  merely  that  he  thought  it  possible  the 
boy  had  the  will,  or  knew  where  it  was.  He  had 
begun  to  think  of  the  boy's  presence  in  New  York 
as  dangerous  to  his  plans. 

John  Linden  might  at  any  time  learn  that  the 
son,  for  whose  appearance  he  had  grieved  so  bit- 
terly, was  still  living  in  the  person  of  this  street 
boy.  Then  there  would  be  an  end  of  his  hopes  of 
inheriting  the  estate. 

Only  a  few  months  more  and  the  danger  would 
be  over,  for  he  felt  convinced  that  his  uncle's  tenure 
of  life  would  be  brief.  The  one  essential  thing, 
then,  seemed  to  be  to  get  Dodger  out  of  the  city. 

The  first  step  had  already  been  taken;  what  the 
next  was  will  soon  appear. 

Scarcely  had  Dodger  failed  in  his  attempt  to  ob- 
tain outside  assistance  when  an  unaccountable  drow- 
siness overcame  him,  considerably  to  his  surprise. 

"I  don't  know  what's  come  to  me,"  he  said  to 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  137 

himself.  'It  can't  be  more  than  seven  or  eight 
o'clock,  and,  yet  I  feel  so  sleepy  I  can  hardly  keep 
my  eyes  open.  I  haven't  worked  any  harder  than 
usual  to-day,  and  I  can't  understand  it." 

Dodger  had  reason  to  be  surprised,  for  he  didn't 
usually  retire  till  eleven  o'clock. 

In  a  city  like  New  York,  where  many  of  the 
streets  are  tolerably  well  filled  even  at  midnight, 
people  get  in  the  way  of  sitting  up  much  later  than 
in  the  country,  and  Dodger  was  no  exception  to 
this  rule. 

Yet  here  he  was  ready  to  drop  off  to  sleep  be- 
fore eight  o'clock.  To  him  it  was  a  mystery,  for 
he  did  not  know  that  the  cup  of  tea  which  he  had 
drunk  at  supper  had  been  drugged  by  direction  of 
Curtis  Waring,  with  an  ulterior  purpose,  which  will 
soon  appear. 

"I  may  as  well  lie  down,  as  there  is  nothing  else 
to  do,"  thought  Dodger.  'There  isn't  much  fun 
sitting  in  the  dark.  If  I  can  sleep,  so  much  the  bet- 
ter." 

Five  minutes  had  scarcely  passed  after  his  head 
struck  the  pillow,  when  our  hero  was  fast  asleep. 

At  eleven  o'clock  a  hack  stopped  in  front  of  the 
house,  and  Curtis  Waring  descended  from  it. 

"Stay  here,"  he  said  to  the  driver.  'There  will 
be  another  passenger.  If  you  are  detained  I  will 
make  it  right  when  I  come  to  pay  you." 

"All  right,  sir,"  said  the  hackman.  "I  don't 
care  how  long  it  is  if  I  am  paid  for  my  time." 


138  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

Curtis  opened  the  door  with  a  pass-key,  and  found 
Julius  dozing  in  a  chair  in  the  hall. 

''Wake  up,  you  sleepy-head,"  he  said.  "Has  any- 
thing happened  since  I  left  here?'* 

"Yes,  sir;  the  boy  tried  to  get  away.'* 

"Did  he?  I  don't  see  how  he  could  do  that.  You 
kept  the  door  bolted,  didn't  you?" 

"Yes,  sir;  but  he  throwed  a  piece  of  paper  out'n 
de  window,  sayin'  he  was  kep'  a  prisoner  here.  A 
young  man  picked  it  up,  and  came  to  de  house  to  ax 
about  it." 

Curtis  looked  alarmed. 

"What  did  you  say?"  he  inquired,  apprehensively. 

"Told  him  de  boy  was  crazy  as  a  loon — dat  he 
tried  to  kill  his  mother  las'  week,  and  had  a  carvin'- 
knife  hid  in  his  room." 

"Good,  Julius !  I  didn't  give  you  credit  for  such 
a  fertile  imagination. 

"What's  dat,  massa?"  asked  Julius,  looking  puz- 
zled. 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  such  a  skillful  liar.*' 

"Yah!  yah!"  laughed  Julius,  quite  comprehend- 
ing this  compliment.  "I  reckon  I  can  twis'  de  trufe 
pretty  well,  Massa  Curtis!" 

"You  have  done  well,  Julius,"  said  Curtis,  ap- 
provingly.    "Here's  a  dollar !" 

The  negro  was  quite  effusive  in  his  gratitude. 

"What  did  the  young  man  say?" 

"He  looked  scared.  I  tol'  him  he  could  go  up 
and  see  de  boy  if  he  wasn't  af eared  of  the  carvin'- 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  139 

knife,  but  he  said  he  guessed  he  wouldn't — he  didn't 
like  crazy  folks." 

Curtis  laughed  heartily. 

''So  it  all  ended  as  it  should.  Did  the  boy  make 
any  more  trouble?" 

''Yes;  he  pounded  and  kicked  till  I  had  to  go  up 
and  see  what  was  the  matter.  I  didn't  give  him  no 
satisfaction,  and  I  guess  he  went  to  bed." 

"He  ought  to  be  in  a  deep  sleep  by  this  time.  I 
will  go  up  and  see.  Go  up  with  me,  Julius,  for 
I  may  have  to  ask  you  to  help  me  bring  him  down." 

Though  Julius  was  naturally  a  coward,  he  felt 
quite  brave  when  he  had  company,  and  he  at  once 
went  upstairs  with  Curtis  Waring. 

Curtis  drew  the  bolt,  and,  entering  the  chamber, 
his  glance  fell  upon  Dodger,  fast  asleep  on  the  bed. 

"I  am  glad  the  boy  did  not  undress,"  he  said. 
"It  will  save  me  a  great  deal  of  trouble.  Now,  Ju- 
lius, you  can  take  his  feet  and  I  will  lift  his  head, 
and  we  will  take  him  downstairs." 

"S'pos'n  he  wakes  up,  Massa  Curtis?" 

"He  won't  wake  up.  I  took  care  the  sleepmg  po- 
tion should  be  strong  enough  to  produce  profound 
slumber  for  eighteen  hours." 

"Seems  as  if  he  was  dead,"  said  Julius,  nervously. 

"Tush,  you  fool !  He's  no  more  dead  than  you 
or  I." 

The  hackman  looked  curious  when  the  two  men 
appeared  with  their  sleeping  burden,  and  Curtis  felt 
that  some  explanation  was  required. 


140  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"The  boy  has  a  very  painful  disease,"  he  said, 
"and  the  doctor  gave  him  a  sleeping  draught.  He 
is  going  abroad  for  his  health,  and,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, I  think  it  best  not  to  wake  him  up.  Drive 
slowly  and  carefully  to  Pier  No.  — ,  as  I  don't  want 
the  boy  aroused  if  it  can  be  helped." 

"All  right,  sir." 

"Julius,  you  may  lock  the  door  and  come  with 
me.  I  shall  need  your  help  to  get  him  on  board  the 
ship." 

"All  right,  Massa  Curtis." 

"And,  mind  you,  don't  go  to  sleep  in  the  carriage, 
you  black  rascal !"  added  Curtis,  as  he  saw  that  the 
negro  found  it  hard  to  keep  his  eyes  open. 

"All  right,  massa,  I'll  keep  awake.  How  am  I 
to  get  home?" 

"I  will  instruct  the  hackman  to  take  you  home." 

"Yah,  yah;  I'll  be  ridin'  like  a  gentleman!" 

The  journey  was  successfully  accomplished,  but 
it  took  an  hour,  for,  according  to  directions,  the 
hackman  did  not  force  his  pace,  but  drove  slowly, 
till  he  reached  the  North  River  pier  indicated. 

At  the  pier  was  a  large,  stanch  vessel — the  Co- 
lumbia— bound  for  San  Francisco,  around  Cape 
Horn. 

All  was  dark,  but  the  second  officer  was  pacing 
the  deck. 

Curtis  Waring  hailed  him. 

"What  time  do  you  get  off?" 

*'Early  to-morrow  morning." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  141 

"So  the  captain  told  me.  I  have  brought  you 
a  passenger." 

'The  captain  told  me  about  him." 

"Is  his  stateroom  ready?" 

"Yes,  sir.     You  are  rather  late." 

"True;  and  the  boy  is  asleep,  as  you  will  see. 
He  is  going  to  make  the  voyage  for  his  health,  and, 
as  he  has  been  suffering  some  pain,  I  thought  I 
would  not  wake  him  up.  Who  will  direct  me  to 
his  stateroom?" 

The  mate  summoned  the  steward,  and  Dodger, 
still  unconscious,  was  brought  on  board  and  quietly 
transferred  to  the  bunk  that  had  been  prepared  for 
him. 

It  was  a  critical  moment  for  poor  Dodger,  but 
he  was  quite  unconscious  of  it. 

"What  is  the  boy's  name?"  asked  the  mate. 

"Arthur  Grant.  The  captain  has  it  on  his  list. 
Is  he  on  board?" 

"Yes;  but  he  is  asleep." 

"I  do  not  need  to  see  him.  I  have  transacted 
all  necessary  business  with  him — and  paid  the  pas- 
sage money.     Julius,  bring  the  valise." 

Julius  did  so. 

"This  contains  the  boy's  clothing.  Take  it  to 
the  stateroom,  Julius." 

"All  right,  Massa  Curtis." 

"What  is  your  usual  time  between  New  York  and 
San  Francisco?"  asked  Curtis,  addressing  the  mate. 

"From  four  to  six  months.     Four  months  is  very 


142  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

short,  six  months  very  long.  We  ought  to  get 
there  in  five  months,  or  perhaps  a  little  sooner,  with 
average  weather." 

"Very  well.  I  believe  there  is  no  more  to  be  said. 
Good-night !" 

**Good-night,  sir." 

**So  he  is  well  out  of  the  way  for  five  months!" 
soliloquized  Curtis.  "In  five  months  much  may 
happen.  Before  that  time  I  hope  to  be  in  posses- 
sion of  my  uncle's  property.  Then  I  can  snap  my 
fingers  at  fate." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  143 


CHAPTER  XXL 


A    SEASICK    PASSENGER. 


The  good  ship  Columbia  had  got  fifty  miles  un- 
der way  before  Dodger  opened  his  eyes. 

He  looked  about  him  languidly  at  first,  but  this 
feeling  was  succeeded  by  the  wildest  amazement, 
as  his  eyes  took  in  his  unusual  surroundings. 

He  had  gone  to  sleep  on  a  bed — he  found  him- 
self on  awakening  in  a  ship's  bunk. 

He  half  arose  in  his  birth,  but  the  motion  of  the 
vessel  and  a  slight  feeling  of  dizziness  compelled  him 
to  resume  a  recumbent  position. 

"I  must  be  dreaming,"  thought  Dodger.  "It's 
very  queer.  I  am  dreaming  I  am  at  sea.  I  sup- 
pose that  explains  it." 

He  listened  and  heard  the  swish  of  the  waters 
as  they  beat  against  the  sides  of  the  vessel. 

He  noted  the  pitching  of  the  ship,  and  there  was 
an  unsteady  feeling  in  his  head,  such  as  those  who 
have  gone  to  sea  will  readily  recall. 

Dodger  became  more  and  more  bewildered. 

*'If  it's  a  dream,  it's  the  most  real  dream  I  ever 
had,"  he  said  to  himself. 


144  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

'This  seems  like  a  ship's  cabin,"  he  continued, 
looking  about  him.  ''I  think  if  I  got  up  I  should 
be  seasick.  I  wonder  if  people  ever  get  seasick  in 
dreams?" 

There  was  another  pitch,  and  Dodger  instinctively 
clung  to  the  edge  of  his  berth,  to  save  himself  from 
being  thrown  out. 

"Let  me  see,"  he  said,  trying  to  collect  his  scat- 
tered recollection.  ''I  went  to  sleep  in  a  house  up- 
town— a  house  to  which  Curtis  Waring  lured  me, 
and  then  made  me  a  prisoner.  The  house  was  some- 
where near  One  Hundred  and  Twenty-fifth  Street. 
Now  it  seems  as  if  I  was  on  board  a  ship.  How 
could  I  get  here?  I  wish  somebody  would  come 
in  that  I  could  ask." 

As  no  one  came  in.  Dodger  got  out  of  the  berth, 
and  tried  to  stand  on  the  cabin  floor. 

But  before  he  knew  it  he  was  staggering  like  one 
intoxicated,  and  his  head  began  to  feel  bad,  partly, 
no  doubt,  on  account  of  the  sleeping  potion  which 
he  had  unconsciously  taken. 

At  this  moment  the  steward  entered  the  cabin. 

''Hello,  young  man!  Have  you  got  up?"  he 
asked. 

"Where  am  I?"  asked  Dodger,  looking  at  him 
with  a  dazed  expression. 

"Where  are  you?  You're  on  the  good  ship  Co- 
lumbia,  to  be  sure?" 

"Are  we  out  to  sea?" 

"Of  course  you  are." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  145 

''How  far  from  land?" 

''Well,  about  fifty  miles,  more  or  less,  I  should 
judge/' 

"How  long  have  I  been  here?" 

"It  seems  to  me  you  have  a  poor  memory.  You 
came  on  board  last  evening." 

"I  suppose  Curtis  Waring  brought  me,"  said 
Dodger,  beginning  to  get  his  bearings. 

"There  was  a  gentleman  came  with  you — so  the 
mate  told  me.     I  don't  know  his  name." 

"Where  is  the  ship  bound?" 

"To  San  Francisco,  around  Cape  Horn.  I  sup- 
posed you  knew  that." 

"I  never  heard  of  the  ship  Columbia  before,  and 
I  never  had  any  idea  of  making  a  sea  voyage." 

The  steward  looked  surprised. 

"I  suppose  your  guardian  arranged  about  that. 
Didn't  he  tell  you?" 

"I  have  no  guardian." 

"Well,  you'll  have  to  ask  Capt.  Barnes  about 
that.  I  know  nothing,  except  that  you  are  a  pas- 
senger, and  that  your  fare  has  been  paid." 

"My  fare  paid  to  San  Francisco?"  asked 
Dodger,  more  and  more  at  sea,  both  mentally  and 
physically. 

"Yes;  we  don't  take  any  deadheads  on  the  Cohim- 
hiar 

"Can  you  tell  me  what  time  it  is?" 

"About  twelve  o'clock.     Do  you  feel  hungry?" 

"N — not  very,"  returned  Dodger,  as  a  ghastly  ex- 


146  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

pression  came  over  his  face,  and  he  tumbled  back 
into  his  berth,  looking  very  pale. 

The  steward  smiled. 

"I  see  how  it  is,"  he  said;  ''you  are  getting  ini- 
tiated." 

"What's  that?"  muttered  Dodger,  feebly. 

"You're  going  to  be  seasick.  You'll  hardly  be 
able  to  appear  at  the  dinner  table." 

"It  makes  me  sick  to  think  of  eating,"  said  Dod- 
ger, feebly. 

As  he  sank  back  into  his  berth,  all  thoughts  of 
his  unexpected  position  gave  way  to  an  overpow- 
ering feeling  of  seasickness. 

He  had  never  been  tried  in  this  way  before,  and 
he  found  the  sensation  far  from  agreeable. 

"If  only  the  vessel  would  stop  pitching,"  he 
groaned.  "Oh,  how  happy  I  should  be  if  I  were 
on  dry  land." 

But  the  vessel  wouldn't  stop — even  for  a  minute. 

The  motion,  on  the  other  hand,  seemed  to  in- 
crease, as  was  natural,  for  they  were  getting  far- 
ther and  farther  from  land  and  were  exposed  to  the 
more  violent  winds  that  swept  the  open  ocean. 

There  is  something  about  seasickness  that  swal- 
lows up  and  draws  away  all  minor  cares  and,  anx- 
ieties, and  Dodger  was  too  much  affected  to  con- 
sider how  or  why  it  was  that  he  so  unexpectedly 
found  himself  a  passenger  to  California. 

"Lie  flat  on  your  back,"  said  the  steward.  "You 
will  feel  better  if  you  do." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  147 

''How  long  is  it  going  to  last?"  groaned  Dodger, 
feeling  quite  miserable. 

''Oh,  you'll  feel  better  to-morrow.  I'll  bring 
you  some  porridge  presently.  You  can  get  that 
down,  and  it  is  better  to  have  something  on  your 
stomach." 

He  was  right.  The  next  day  Dodger  felt  con- 
siderably better,  and  ventured  to  go  upon  deck.  He 
looked  about  him  in  surprise. 

There  had  been  a  storm,  and  the  waves  were 
white  with  foam. 

As  far  as  the  eye  could  see  there  was  a  tumult 
and  an  uproar. 

The  ship  was  tossed  about  like  a  cockle  shell. 
But  the  sailors  went  about  their  work  unruffled. 
It  was  no  new  sight  for  them. 

Though  his  head  did  not  feel  exactly  right,  the 
strong  wind  entered  Dodger's  lungs,  and  he  felt  ex- 
hilarated. His  eyes  brightened,  and  he  began  to 
share  in  the  excitement  of  the  scene. 

Pacing  the  deck  was  a  stout,  bronzed  seaman, 
whose  dress  made  it  clear  even  to  the  inexperienced 
eyes  of  Dodger  that  he  was  the  captain. 

*'Good-morning,  Master  Grant,"  he  said,  pleas- 
antly.    ''Are  you  getting  your  sea  legs  on?" 

The  name  was  unfamiliar  to  Dodger,  but  he  could 
see  that  the  remark  was  addressed  to  him. 

*'Yes,  sir,"  he  answered. 

"Ever  been  to  sea  before?" 

"No,  sir." 


148  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

'^You'll  get  used  to  it.  Bless  me,  you'll  stand  it 
like  an  old  sailor  before  we  get  to  'Frisco." 

''Is  it  a  long  voyage,  captain?"  asked  Dodger. 

''Five  months,  probably.  We  may  get  there  a 
little  sooner.  It  depends  on  the  winds  and  weather." 

"Five  months,"  said  Dodger  to  himself,  in  a  tone 
of  dismay. 

The  captain  laughed. 

"It'll  be  a  grand  experience  for  a  lad  like  you, 
Arthur!"  said  the  captain,  encouragingly. 

Arthur!  So  his  name  was  Arthur!  He  had  just 
been  called  Master  Grant,  so  Arthur  Grant  was  his 
name  on  board  ship. 

Dodger  was  rather  glad  to  have  a  name  provided, 
for  he  had  only  been  known  as  Dodger  heretofore, 
and  this  name  would  excite  surprise.  He  had  re- 
cently felt  the  need  of  a  name,  and  didn't  see  why 
this  wouldn't  answer  his  purpose  as  well  as  any 
other. 

"I  must  write  it  down  so  as  not  to  forget  it,"  he 
resolved.  "It  would  seem  queer  if  I  forgot  my 
own  name." 

"I  shouldn't  enjoy  it  much  if  I  were  going  to 
be  seasick  all  the  time,"  he  answered. 

"Oh,  a  strong,  healthy  boy  like  you  will  soon  be 
all  right.     You  don't  look  like  an  invalid." 

"I  never  was  sick  in  my  life." 

"But  your  guardian  told  me  he  was  sending  you 
on  a  sea  voyage  for  your  health." 

"Did  Mr.  Waring  say  that?" 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  149 

^Yes;  didn't  you  know  the  object  of  your  sea 
trip?"  asked  Capt.  Barnes,  in  surprise. 

"No." 

"There  may  be  some  tendency  to  disease  in  your 
system — some  hereditary  tendency,"  said  the  cap- 
tain, after  a  pause.     "Were  your  parents  healthy?" 

"They — died  young,"  answered  Dodger,  hesitat- 
ingly. 

"That  accounts  for  your  guardian's  anxiety. 
However,  you  look  strong  enough,  in  all  con- 
science; and  if  you're  not  healthy,  you  will  be  be- 
fore the  voyage  ends." 

"I  don't  know  what  I  am  to  do  for  clothes,"  said 
Dodger,  as  a  new  source  of  perplexity  presented  it- 
self. "I  can't  get  along  with  one  shirt  and  col- 
lar for  five  months." 

"You  will  find  plenty  of  clothes  in  your  valise. 
Hasn't  it  been  given  you?" 

"No,  sir." 

"You  may  ask  the  steward  for  it.  You  didn't 
think  your  guardian  would  send  you  on  a  five- 
months'  voyage  without  a  change  of  clothing,  did 
you?" 

And  the  captain  laughed  heartily. 

"I  don't  know  Mr.  Waring  very  well,"  said 
Dodger,  awkwardly. 

As  he  went  downstairs  to  inquire  about  his  valise, 
this  question  haunted  him: 

"Why  did  Curtis  Waring  send  him  on  a  sea  voy- 
age?" 


15©  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


THE  OTHER  PASSENGER. 


Dodger  sought  the  steward,  and  asked  for  his 
valise. 

"Isn't  it  in  your  stateroom?"  asked  that  func- 
tionary. 

"I  haven't  seen  it." 

"I  remember  now.  It  was  put  with  the  lug- 
gage of  the  other  passenger.  I  will  show  it  to 
you." 

He  took  Dodger  to  a  part  of  the  ship  where 
freight  was  stored,  and  pointed  to  a  sizable  valise 
with  a  card  attached  to  it  on  which  was  inscribed 
the  name:     ''Arthur  Grant." 

'This  must  be  yours,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  answered  Dodger,  glad  to 
have  found  out  the  new  name  which  had  been  given 
him,  otherwise  he  would  have  supposed  the  valise 
belonged  to  some  other  person. 

He  took  the  valise  to  his  stateroom,  and,  finding 
a  key  tied  to  the  handles,  he  opened  it  at  once. 

It  proved  to  contain  a  very  fair  supply  of  under- 
clothing,  socks,   handkerchiefs,   etc.,   with  a  tooth 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  151 

brush,  a  hair  brush  and  comb,  and  a  sponge.  Never 
in  his  hfe  had  Dodger  been  so  well  supplied  witli 
clothing  before.  There  were  four  white  shirts,  two 
tennis  shirts,  half  a  dozen  handkerchiefs  and  the 
same  number  of  socks,  with  three  changes  of  under- 
clothing. 

"I  begin  to  feel  like  a  gentleman,"  said  Dodger 
to  himself,  complacently. 

That  was  not  all.  At  the  bottom  of  the  valise 
was  an  envelope,  sealed,  on  which  was  inscribed  the 
name :     ^'Dodger." 

''That  is  for  me,  at  any  rate,"  thought  our  hero. 
"1  suppose  it  is  from  Curtis  Waring." 

He  opened  the  envelope,  and  found  inclosed  twen- 
ty-five dollars  in  bills,  with  a  few  lines  written  on 
a  half-sheet  of  paper.  These  Dodger  read,  with 
interest  and  curiosity.     They  were  as  follows : 

''Dodger: — The  money  inclosed  is  for  you. 
When  you  reach  California  you  w411  find  it  of  use. 
I  have  sent  you  out  there  because  you  will  find  in 
a  new  country  a  better  chance  to  rise  than  in  the 
city  of  New  York.  I  advise  you  to  stay  there  and 
grow  up  with  the  country.  In  New  York  you  were 
under  the  influence  of  a  bad  man,  from  whom  it 
is  best  that  you  should  be  permanently  separated. 
I  know  something  of  the  early  history  of  Tim  Bol- 
ton. He  was  detected  in  a  crime,  and  fled  to  escape 
the  consequences.  You  are  not  his  son,  but  his 
nephew.     Your  mother  was  his  sister,  but  quite  su- 


152  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

perior  to  himself.  Your  right  name  is  Arthur 
Grant,  and  it  will  be  well  for  you  to  assume  it  here- 
after. I  have  entered  you  in  the  list  of  passengers 
under  that  name. 

**I  thought  you  had  taken  the  will  from  my  un- 
cle's desk,  but  I  am  inclined  to  think  you  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  it.  If  you  know  where  it  is,  or 
whether  Bolton  has  it,  I  expect  you  to  notify  me  in 
return  for  the  money  I  have  expended  in  your  be- 
half. In  that  case  you  can  write  to  me.  No.  — 
Madison  Avenue.  Curtis  Waring." 

Dodger  read  the  letter  over  twice,  and  it  puzzled 
him. 

''He  seems  from  the  letter  to  take  an  interest  in 
me,"  he  soliloquized.  ''At  any  rate,  he  has  given 
me  money  and  clothes,  and  paid  my  passage  to 
California.  What  for,  I  wonder?  I  don't  believe 
it  is  to  get  me  away  from  the  bad  influence  of  Tim. 
There  must  be  some  other  reason." 

There  was  another  part  of  the  letter  with  which 
Dodger  did  not  agree. 

Curtis  asserted  positively  that  he  was  the  nephew 
of  Tim  Bolton,  while  he  was  positive  that  there  was 
no  relationship  between  them. 

In  that  case  Curtis  must  have  been  an  early  ac- 
quaintance of  Tim's.  At  any  rate,  he  seemed  to 
know  about  his  past  life. 

Dodger  now  comprehended  his  present  situation 
fully.     He  was  a  passenger  on  the  ship  Columbia, 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  153 

and  there  was  no  chance  of  leaving  it.  He  had 
ascertainel  on  inquiry  that  the  vessel  would  not  put 
in  anywhere,  but  would  make  the  long  voyage  di- 
rect. It  would  be  over  four  months,  at  any  rate, 
before  he  could  communicate  with  Florence,  and 
in  the  meantime,  she  and  Mrs.  O'Keefe,  whom  he 
recognized  as  a  good  friend,  would  conclude  that 
he  was  dead. 

It  was  very  provoking  to  think  that  he  could  not 
even  telegraph,  as  that  would  relieve  all  anxiety,  and 
he  felt  sure  that  Florence  was  enough  his  friend 
to  feel  anxious  about  him. 

He  had  just  closed  up  his  valise,  when  a  young 
man  of  dark  complexion  and  of  an  attractive,  in- 
tellectual expression,  entered  the  cabin. 

He  nodded  pleasantly  to  Dodger,  and  said: 

"I  suppose  this  is  Arthur  Grant?" 

*'Yes,  sir,"  answered  Dodger,  for  he  had  decided 
to  adopt  the  name. 

*'We  ought  to  become  close  friends,  for  we  are, 
I  believe,  the  only  passengers." 

'Then  you  are  a  passenger,  too?"  said  Dodger, 
deciding,  after  a  brief  scrutiny,  that  he  should  like 
his  new  acquaintance. 

''Yes.  My  name  is  Randolph  Leslie.  I  have 
been,  for  the  last  five  years,  a  reporter  on  leading 
New  York  daily  papers,  and  worked  so  closely  that 
my  health  has  become  somewhat  affected.  My  doc- 
tor recommended  a  sea  voyage,  and  I  have  arranged 
for  a  pretty  long  one." 


154  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

''What  papers  have  you  worked  for?" 

*'0h,  all  the  leading  ones — Tribune,  World,  Her- 
ald, and  Sun — sometimes  one,  and  sometimes  an- 
other. Your  reason  for  taking  this  trip  can  hardly 
be  the  same  as  mine.  You  don't  look  as  if  your 
health  required  you  to  travel." 

''No,"  answered  Dodger,  smiling;  "but  I  under- 
stand that  the  gentleman  who  engaged  my  passage 
said  I  was  going  to  sea  for  my  health." 

''If  I  were  as  robust  as  you,  I  shouldn't  give  much 
thought  to  my  health.  Do  you  intend  to  remain 
in  California?" 

"I  don't  know  what  I  do  intend,"  replied  Dod- 
ger. "I  didn't  know  I  was  going  to  California  at 
all  until  I  woke  up  in  my  stateroom." 

The  young  man  looked  surprised. 

"Didn't  you  know  the  destination  of  the  vessel 
when  you  came  on  board?"  he  asked. 

"I  was  brought  aboard  in  my  sleep." 

"This  is  curious.  It  looks  to  me  as  if  you  had 
a  story  to  tell. 

"Of  course,  I  don't  want  to  be  curious,  but  if 
there  is  anyway  in  which  I  can  help  you,  by  advice, 
or  in  any  other  way,  I  am  quite  ready  to  do  so." 

Dodger  paused,  but  only  briefly.  This  young- 
man  looked  friendly,  and  might  help  him  to  pen- 
etrate the  mystery  which  at  present  baffled  him. 

At  any  rate,  his  experience  qualified  him  to  give 
friendly  advice,  and  of  this  Dodger  felt  that  he 
stood  in  need. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  155 

"1  ought  to  tell  you,  to  begin  with,"  he  said, 
*'that  I  am  a  poor  boy,  and  made  my  living  as  best 
I  could,  by  carrying  baggage,  selling  papers,  etc." 

*'I  don't  think  any  the  worse  of  you  for  that. 
Did  you  live  at  the  lodging  houses?" 

*'No;  until  lately  I  lived  with  a  man  who  keeps 
a  saloon  on  the  Bowery,  and  tended  bar  for  him." 

*'What  was  his  name?  As  a  reporter  I  know  the 
Bowery  pretty  well." 

^Tim  Bolton." 

*Tim  Bolton?  I  know  his  place  well.  I  think 
I  must  have  seen  you  there.  Your  face  looked 
familiar  to  me  as  soon  as  I  set  eyes  on  you." 

"Very  likely.  A  good  many  people  came  into 
Tim's.     I  couldn't  pretend  to  remember  them  all." 

*'Was  Tim  a  relative  of  yours?" 

"I  don't  believe  he  was.  I  always  thought  that 
he  got  hold  of  me  when  I  was  a  kid.  I  don't  re- 
member the  time  when  I  wasn't  with  him." 

"I  suppose  you  have  always  lived  in  New  York?" 

"No ;  I  lived  for  several  years  in  Australia.  Tim 
was  in  the  same  business  there.  I  came  on  with  him 
a  year  or  more  since." 

"Do  you  think  you  ever  lived  in  New  York  be- 
fore?" 

"Yes;  Tim  has  told  me  that  I  was  born  in  New 
York." 

"I  understand  that  you  have  left  Tim  now?" 

"Yes." 

"Why,  may  I  ask?" 


156  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

''Because  I  didn't  like  the  business  he  was  in. 
But  I  Hked  it  better  than  the  one  he  wanted  me  to 
go  into." 

"What  was  that?" 

"Burglary." 

The  young  reporter  started  in  surprise. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "this  is  a  new  tack  for  Tim. 
However,  I  never  looked  upon  him  as  a  man  who 
would  shrink  from  any  violation  of  the  laws,  ex- 
cept murder.     I  don't  think  he  would  do  that." 

"No;  Tim  isn't  quite  so  bad.  He  isn't  the  worst 
man  alive,  though  he  is  a  rather  hard  customer. 
It  was  his  wanting  me  to  enter  a  house  on  Madi- 
son Avenue  and  open  a  desk  that  led  to  me  going 
on  this  trip." 

"Tell  me  about  it,  if  you  don't  mind." 

Thus  invited,  Dodger  told  his  story  to  Ran- 
dolph Leslie,  keeping  nothing  back. 

He  finished  by  showing  him  the  letter  he  had 
found  in  the  valise. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  157 


CHAPTER  XXIIL 

THROUGH  THE  GOLDEN  GATE. 

*Well,  this  is  certainly  a  remarkable  letter," 
said  the  reporter,  as  he  handed  it  back  to  Dodger. 
*'I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  the  interest  which 
this  man  appears  to  feel  in  you." 

*'I  look  upon  him  as  my  enemy,"  said  Dodger. 
"But  an  enemy  doesn't  spend  so  much  money  upon 
another  as  he  has." 

^'Unless  he  has  object  in  it,"  amended  Leslie, 
shrewdly.  ''Do  you  know  of  any  connection  this 
man  has  with  you?" 

*'No;  I  never  heard  of  him  until  I  entered  his 
house,"  and  Dodger  flushed  as  he  thought  that 
his  entrance  into  the  mansion  on  Madison  Avenue 
had  been  as  a  burglar. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  he  knows  more  about  you 
than  you  do  about  him.  It  also  seems  to  me  that 
he  is  anxious  to  get  you  out  of  New  York,  the  far- 
ther the  better." 

"But  what  harm  could  I  do  him  in  New  York?" 
asked  Dodger,  puzzled. 

"That  is  the  question  which  I  cannot  answer.  You 


158  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

say  he  was  instrumental  in  getting  his  Cousin  Flor- 
ence out  of  the  house?" 

*'Yes;  he  wanted  to  marry  her." 

*'And  she  would  not  consent  ?" 

*'No;  I  think  she  hates  him." 

"How  old  is  she?" 

"Seventeen." 

"And  he?" 

"He  looks  about  thirty-five." 

"The  difference  in  years  isn't  great  enough  to 
constitute  an  obstacle,  provided  she  loved  him.  I 
am  thirty  years  old." 

"I  am  suFe  Florence  would  prefer  you  to  Curtis 
Waring." 

"Don't  flatter  me.  I  am  vain  enough  already. 
The  time  may  come  when  I  may  ask  your  good 
offices  with  Miss  Linden.  What  I  was  about  to 
ask  was:  Is  Miss  Linden  also  entitled  to  a  share 
in  her  uncle's  estate?" 

"She  is  just  as  nearly  related  to  him  as  Mr.  War- 
ing." 

"Then  I  can  understand  his  wishing  to  get  rid 
of  her.  I  don't  know  why  he  should  want  to  send 
you  to  a  distance.  I  suppose  there  can't  be  any  re- 
lationship ?" 

"Is  it  likely  that  I — a  poor  street  boy — should 
be  related  to  a  rich  man  like  Mr.  Linden?" 

"It  doesn't  seem  likely,  I  admit,"  said  Leslie,  mu- 
singly. "Well,  I  suppose,"  he  continued,  after  a 
pause,  "there  is  no  use  in  speculating  about  the  mat- 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  159 

ter  now.  The  important  point  is,  what  are  we  to 
do  with  ourselves  during  the  four  or  five  months 
we  must  spend  on  shipboard?" 

"I  don't  know  what  I  can  do,"  said  Dodger.  *'I 
can't  sell  papers,  and  I  can't  smash  baggage." 

**And  there  appears  to  be  no  need  of  your  doing 
either,  as  you  are  provided  with  board  and  lodg- 
ing till  we  reach  shore." 

'That  seems  strange  to  me,  for  I've  always  had 
to  hustle  for  a  living." 

'1  was  about  to  make  a  proposal  to  you.  But 
first  let  me  ask  you  about  your  education.  I  sup- 
pose you  are  not  an  accomplished  scholar?" 

"I'm  about  as  ignorant  as  they  make  'em,"  an- 
swered Dodger,  drolly.  "Tim  was  afraid  to  send 
me  to  college,  for  fear  I'd  get  to  know  too  much 
for  my  business." 

"Tending  bar  does  not  require  an  acquaintance 
with  Latin  and  Greek.  Would  you  like  to  know 
more?" 

"I  wish  I  did.  Florence  was  teaching  me  nights 
when  I  was  in  New  York.  Now  I've  got  to  give 
up  all  that." 

"Not  necessarily.  Listen  to  me,  Arthur.  Be- 
fore I  came  to  New  York  to  go  into  journalism, 
I  taught  school  for  two  years;  and  I  believe  I  may 
say  that  I  was  tolerably  successful.  Suppose  I  take 
you  as  a  scholar?" 

"I  should  like  it  very  much,  Mr.  Leslie,  but  I'm 
afraid  I  haven't  got  money  enough  to  pay  you." 


i6o  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"That  is  true.  You  will  need  all  the  money  you 
have  when  you  land  in  California.  Twenty -five 
dollars  won't  go  far — still  you  have  all  the  money 
that  is  necessary,  for  I  do  not  intend  to  charge  you 
anything." 

''You  are  very  kind  to  me,  Mr.  Leslie,  consider- 
in'  you  don't  know  me,"  said  Dodger,  gratefully. 

''On  the  contrary,  I  think  I  know  you  very  well. 
But  about  the  kindness — my  motives  are  somewhat 
mixed.  I  should  like  to  do  you  a  service,  but  I 
should  also  like  to  find  employment  for  myself  that 
will  make  the  days  less  monotonous.  I  have  a  col- 
lection of  books  in  my  trunk,  enough  for  our  needs, 
and  if  you  will  agree  we  will  commence  our  studies 
to-morrow." 

"I  should  like  it  very  much.  I'd  like  to  show 
Florence,  when  I  see  her,  that  I  have  improved.  Till 
I  saw  her  I  didn't  care  much,  but  when  I  talk  with 
her  I  feel  awfully  ignorant." 

"In  four  months  a  great  deal  can  be  accomplished. 
I  don't  know  how  quick  you  are  to  learn.  After 
we  have  had  one  or  two  lessons  I  can  judge  bet- 
ter." 

Two  days  later  Mr.  Leslie  pronounced  his  opin- 
ion, and  a  favorable  one. 

"You  have  not  exaggerated  your  ignorance,"  he 
said  to  Dodger.  "You  have  a  great  deal  to  learn, 
but  on  the  other  hand  you  are  quick,  have  a  reten- 
tive memory,  and  are  very  anxious  to  learn.  I  shall 
make  something  of  you." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  i6r 

"I  learn  faster  with  you  than  with  Florence,"  said 
Dodger. 

'Trobably  she  would  succeed  better  with  girls, 
but  I  hold  that  a  male  teacher  is  better  for  boys. 
How  long  are  you  willing  to  study  every  day?" 

"As  long  as  you  think  best." 

"Then  we  will  say  from  two  to  three  hours.  I 
think  you  have  talent  for  arithmetic.  I  don't  ex- 
pect to  make  you  fit  for  a  bookkeeper,  but  I  hope 
to  make  you  equal  to  most  office  boys  by  the  time 
we  reach  San  Francisco.  What  do  you  intend  to 
do  in  California?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  should  like  to  go  back  to  New 
York,  but  I  shall  not  have  money  enough." 

"No;  twenty-five  dollars  would  go  but  a  little 
way  toward  the  passage.  Evidently  Mr.  Waring 
did  not  intend  to  have  you  return,  or  he  would  have 
provided  you  with  more." 

"That  is  just  why  I  should  like  to  go  back.  I 
am  afraid  he  will  do  some  harm  to  Florence." 

"And  you  would  like  to  be  on  hand  to  protect 
her?" 

"Yes." 

Randolph  Leslie  smiled. 

"You  seem  to  take  a  great  deal  of  interest  in  Flor- 
ence, if  I  may  make  as  free  with  her  name  as  you 
do." 

"Yes;  I  do,  Mr.  Leslie." 

"If  you  were  only  a  little  older  I  might  suspect 
the  nature  of  that  interest." 


i62  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

''I  am  older  than  she  is/' 

"In  years,  yes.  But  a  young  lady  of  seventeen, 
brought  up  as  she  has  been,  is  older  by  years  than 
a  boy  of  eighteen.  I  don't  think  you  need  appre- 
hend any  harm  to  Miss  Linden,  except  that  Mr. 
Waring  may  cheat  her  out  of  her  rightful  share  of 
the  inheritance.  Is  her  uncle  in  good  health?" 
"No,  sir;  he  is  a  very  feeble  man." 
"Is  he  an  old  man?" 

"Not  so  very  old.  I  don't  believe  he  is  over 
sixty." 

Really  Mr.  Linden  was  but  fifty-four,  but,  being 
a  confirmed  invalid,  he  looked  older. 

"Should  you  say  that  he  was  likely  to  live  very 
long?" 

"No,"  answered  Dodger.  "He  looks  as  if  you 
could  knock  him  over  with  a  feather.  Besides,  I've 
heard  Florence  say  that  she  was  afraid  her  uncle 
could  not  live  long." 

"Probably  Curtis  Waring  is  counting  upon  this. 
If  he  can  keep  Florence  and  her  uncle  apart  for  a 
few  months,  Mr.  Linden  will  die,  and  he  will  in- 
herit the  whole  estate.  What  is  this  will  he  speaks 
of  in  the  letter  you  showed  me?" 
"I  don't  know,  sir." 

"Whatever  the  provisions  are,  it  is  evident  that 
he  thinks  it  important  to  get  it  into  his  possession. 
If  favorable  to  him,  he  will  keep  it  carefully.  If 
unfavorable,  I  think  a  man  like  him  would  not  hesi- 
tate to  suppress  it." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  163 

"No  doubt  you  are  right,  sir.  I  don't  know 
much  about  wills,"  said  Dodger. 

*'No;  I  suppose  not.  You  never  made  any,  I 
suppose,"  remarked  the  reporter,  with  a  smile. 

*'I  never  had  nothing  to  leave,"  said  Dodger. 

"Anything  would  be  a  better  expression.  As 
your  tutor  I  feel  it  incumbent  upon  me  to  correct 
your  grammar." 

"I  wish  you  would,  Mr.  Leslie.  What  do  you 
mean  to  do  when  you  get  to  San  Francisco?" 

"I  shall  seek  employment  on  one  of  the  San 
Farncisco  daily  papers.  Six  months  or  a  year  so 
spent  will  restore  my  health,  and  enable  me  to  live 
without  drawing  upon  my  moderate  savings." 

"I  expect  I  shall  have  to  work,  too,  to  get  money 
to  take  me  back  to  New  York." 

And  now  we  must  ask  the  reader  to  imagine  four 
months  and  one  week  passed. 

There  had  been  favorable  weather  on  the  whole, 
and  the  voyage  was  unusually  short. 

Dodger  and  the  reporter  stood  on  deck,  and  with 
eager  interest  watched  the  passage  through  the 
Golden  Gate.  A  little  later  and  the  queen  city  of 
the  Pacific  came  in  sight,  crowning  the  hill  on  which 
a  part  of  the  city  is  built,  with  the  vast  Palace  Hotel 
a  conspicuous  object  in  the  foreground. 


1 64  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


FLORENCE     IN     SUSPENSE. 


We  must  now  return  to  New  York  to  Dodger's 
old  home. 

When  he  did  not  return  at  the  usual  hour,  neither 
Florence  nor  Mrs.  O'Keefe  was  particularly  dis- 
turbed. 

It  was  thought  that  he  had  gone  on  some  errand 
of  unusual  length,  and  would  return  an  hour  or  two 
late. 

Eight  o'clock  came,  the  hour  at  which  the  boy 
was  accustomed  to  repair  to  Florence's  room  to 
study,  and  still  he  didn't  make  his  appearance. 

"Dodger's  late  this  evening,  Mrs.  O'Keefe,"  said 
Florence,  going  up  to  the  room  of  her  landlady. 

"Shure  he  is.  It's  likely  he's  gone  to  Brooklyn 
or  up  to  Harlem,  wid  a  bundle.  He'll  be  comin' 
in  soon." 

*'I  hope  he  will  be  well  paid  for  the  errand,  since 
it  keeps  him  so  long." 

"I  hope  so,  too,  Florence,  for  he's  a  good  boy, 
is  Dodger.  Did  I  tell  you  how  he  served  the  rap- 
scallion that  tried  to  stale  my  apples  the  other  day  ?'* 

**No;  I  would  like  to  hear  it." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  165 

"A  big,  black-bearded  man  came  along,  and  asked 
me  for  an  apple. 

''  'You  can  have  one  for  two  pennies,'  says  I. 

"  'But  I  haven't  got  them,'  says  he. 

"  Then  you  must  go  widout  it,'  says  I. 

**  'We'll  see  about  that,'  says  he. 

"And  what  do  you  think? — the  fellow  picked  out 
one  of  my  biggest  apples,  and  was  walkin'  away! 
That  made  me  mad. 

"  'Come  back,  you  thafe  of  the  worruld !'  says  L 

"  'Silence,  you  old  hag !'  says  he. 

"Actilly  he  called  me  an  old  hag!  I  wanted  to 
go  after  him,  but  there  was  two  hoodlums  hang- 
in'  round,  and  I  knew  they'd  carry  off  some  of  my 
apples,  when,  just  as  I  was  at  my  wits'  end.  Dodger 
came  round  the  corner. 

"  'Dodger,'  I  screamed,  'go  after  that  man !  He's 
taken  one  of  my  apples,  widout  lave  or  license!' 

"Upon  that.  Dodger,  brave  as  a  lion,  walked  up 
to  the  man,  and,  says  he : 

"  'Give  back  that  apple,  or  pay  for  it !' 

"  'What's  that  to  you,  you  impudent  young  ras- 
cal?' says  the  man,  raisin'  the  apple  to  his  mouth. 
But  he  didn't  get  a  chance  to  bite  it,  for  Dodger, 
with  a  flip  of  his  hand,  knocked  it  on  the  sidewalk, 
and  picked  it  up. 

"Wasn't  the  man  mad  just?" 

"  'I'll  smash  you,  boy,'  he  growled. 

"  'I'm  a  baggage-smasher  myself,'  says  Dodger, 
*and  I  can  smash  as  well  as  you.'  > 


i66  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

'*Wid  that  the  man  up  with  his  fist  and  struck  at 
Dodger,  but  he  dodged  the  blow,  and  gave  him 
one  for  himself  wid  his  right.  Just  then  up  came 
a  cop. 

"What's  all  this?'  says  he. 

"  That  man  tried  to  run  off  wid  one  of  my  ap- 
ples,' says  I. 

"  'Come  along,'  says  the  cop.  'You're  wanted  at 
the  station-house.' 

''  'It's  a  lie,'  says  the  man.  'I  paid  the  woman 
for  the  apple,  and  that  young  rascal  knocked  it 
out  of  my  hand.' 

"  'I  know  the  boy,'  says  the  cop,  'and  he  ain't 
one  of  that  kind.  I'll  let  you  go  if  you  buy  five 
apples  from  the  lady,  and  pay  for  'em.' 

"The  man  made  up  an  ugly  face,  but  he  didn't 
want  to  be  locked  up,  and  so  he  paid  me  a  dime  for 
five  apples." 

"Dodger  is  very  brave,"  said  Florence.  "Some- 
times I  think  he  is  too  daring.  He  is  liable  to  get 
into  trouble." 

"If  he  does  he'll  get  himself  out  of  it,  never  you 
fe^r.     Dodger  can  take  care  of  himself." 

Nine  o'clock  came,  and  Florence  became  alarmed. 
She  had  not  been  aware  how  much  she  had  depended 
upon  the  company  6f  her  faithful  friend,  humble 
as  his  station  was. 

Again  she  went  into  Mrs.  O'Keefe's  room.  The 
apple-woman  had  been  out  to  buy  some  groceries 
and  had  just  returned. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  167 

"I  am  getting  anxious  about  Dodger,"  said  Flor- 
ence.    "It  is  nine  o'clock." 

"And  what's  nine  o'clock  for  a  boy  like  him? 
Shure  he's  used  to  bein'  out  at  all  hours  of  the 
night." 

"I  shall  feel  relieved  when  he  comes  home.  What 
should  I  do  without  him?" 

"Shure  I'd  miss  him  myself;  but  it  isn't  the  first 
time  he  has  been  out  late." 

"Perhaps  that  terrible  Tim  Bolton  has  got  hold 
of  him,"  suggested  Florence. 

"Tim  isn't  so  bad,  Florence.  He  isn't  fit  com- 
pany for  the  likes  of  you,  but  there's  worse  men 
nor  Tim." 

"Didn't  he  send  out  Dodger  to  commit  a  bur- 
glary?" 

"And  if  he  hadn't  you'd  never  made  Dodger's 
acquaintance." 

"That's  true;  but  it  doesn't  make  burglary  any 
more  excusable.  Don't  you  really  think  Tim  Bol- 
ton has  got  hold  of  him?" 

"If  he  has,  he  won't  keep  him  long,  I'll  make 
oath  of  that.  He  might  keep  him  over  night,  but 
Dodger  would  come  back  in  the  morning." 

Florence  was  somewhat  cheered  by  Mrs. 
O'Keefe's  refusal  to  believe  that  Dodger  was  in 
any  serious  trouble,  but  she  could  not  wholly  free 
herself  from  uneasiness.  When  eleven  o'clock  came 
she  went  to  bed  very  unwillingly,  and  got  very  lit- 
tle rest  during  the  night.     Morning  came,  and  still 


1 68  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

Dodger  did  not  show  up.  As  we  know,  he  was 
fairly  started  on  his  long-  voyage,  though  he  had 
not  yet  recovered  consciousness. 

Florence  took  a  very  light  breakfast,  and  at  the 
usual  time  went  to  Airs.  Leighton's  to  meet  her 
pupil.  When  the  study  hour  was  over,  she  did 
not  remain  to  lunch,  but  hurried  back,  stopping 
at  Mrs.  O'Keefe's  apple-stand  just  as  that  lady  was 
preparing  to  go  home  to  prepare  dinner. 

''Have  you  seen  anything  of  Dodger,  Mrs. 
O'Keefe?''  asked  Florence,  breathlessly. 

''No,  I  haven't,  Florence.  I've  had  my  eye  out 
watchin'  for  him,  and  he  hasn't  showed  up." 

"Is  there  anything  we  can  do?"  asked  Florence, 
anxiously. 

"Well,  we  might  go  around  and  see  Tim — ^and 
find  out  whether  he's  got  hold  of  him." 
•  "Let  us  go  at  once." 

"Shure  I  didn't  know  you  cared  so  much  for  the 
boy,"  said  Mrs.  O'Keefe,  with  a  shrewd  look  at 
Florence's  anxious  face. 

"Why  shouldn't  I  care  for  him?  He  is  my  only 
friend." 

"Is  he  now  ?  And  what's  the  matter  wid  Bridget 
O'Keefe?"  asked  the  apple-woman. 

"Excuse  me,  Mrs.  O'Keefe.  I  know  very  well  you 
are  my  friend,  and  a  kind  friend,  too.  I  should 
not  have  forgotten  you." 

"It's  all  right,  Florence.  You're  flustrated  like, 
and  that's  why  you  forget  me." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  169 

"I  have  so  few  friends  that  I  can't  spare  one," 
continued  Florence. 

'That's  so.  Come  along  wid  me,  and  we'll  see 
what  Tim  has  to  tell  us." 

A  short  walk  brought  the  two  strangely  assorted 
companions  to  the  entrance  of  Tim  Bolton's  saloon. 

'Tm  afraid  to  go  in,  Mrs.  O'Keefe,"  said  Flor- 
ence. 

''Come  along  wid  me,  my  dear,  I  won't  let  any- 
thing harm  you.  .  You  ain't  used  to  such  a  place, 
but  I've  been  here  more  than  once  to  fill  the  growler. 
Be  careful  as  you  go  down  the  steps,  Florence." 

Tim  Bolton  was  standing  behind  the  bar,  and 
as  he  heard  steps  he  looked  carelessly  toward  the 
entrance,  but  when  he  saw  Florence,  his  indiffer- 
ence vanished.  He  came  from  behind  the  bar,  and 
advanced  to  meet  her. 

"Miss  Linden,"  he  said. 

Florence  shrank  back  and  clung  to  her  compan- 
ion's arm. 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you?  I  am  a 
rough  man,  but  I'm  not  so  bad  as  you  may  think." 

"That's  what  I  told  her,  Tim,"  said  Mrs. 
O'Keefe.  "I  told  Florence  there  was  worse  men 
than  you." 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  O'Keefe.  Can  I  offer  you  a 
glass  of  whiskey?" 

The  apple-woman  was  about  to  accept,  but  she 
felt  an  alarmed  tug  at  her  arm,  and  saw  that  Flor- 
ence would  be  placed  in  an  embarrassing  position 


lyo  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

if  she  accepted.  So,  by  an  exercise  of  self-denial 
— for  Mrs.  O'Keefe  was  by  no  means  insensible  to 
the  attractions  of  whiskey,  though  she  never  drank 
to  excess — she  said : 

"Thank  you  kindly,  Mr.  Bolton.  I  won't  take 
any  just  now ;  but  I'll  remind  you  of  your  offer  an- 
other day." 

'TIave  it  your  own  way,  Mrs.  O'Keefe.  And 
now,  what  can  I  do  for  you  and  Miss  Linden?" 

*'0h,  Mr.  Bolton,"  broke  in  Florence,  unable  to 
bear  the  suspense  longer,  "where  is  Dodger?" 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  171 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

FINDING      THE      CLEW. 

Tim  Bolton  looked  at  Florence  in  undisguised 
astonishment. 

''Dodger !"  he  repeated.  ''How  should  I  know? 
I  supposed  that  you  had  lured  him  away  from  me." 

"He  didn't  like  the  business  you  were  in.  He 
preferred  to  make  a  living  in  some  other  way." 

"Then  why  do  you  ask  me  where  he  is?" 

"Because  he  did  not  come  home  last  night.  Shure 
he  rooms  at  my  house,"  put  in  Mrs.  O'Keefe,  "and 
he  hasn't  showed  up  since ■' 

"And  you  thought  I  might  have  got  hold  of 
him?"  said  Bolton,  inquiringly. 

"Then  you  are  mistaken.  I  haven't  seen  the  boy 
for  weeks." 

Tim  Bolton  spoke  so  straightforwardly  that  there 
was  no  chance  to  doubt  his  word. 

"When  he  was  living  with  you,  Mr.  Bolton,"  con- 
tinued Florence,  "did  he  ever  stay  away  like  this?" 

"No,"  answered  Bolton.  "Dodger  was  always 
very  regular  about  comin'  home." 

"Then  something  must  have  happened  to  him," 
said  Florence,  anxiously. 


172  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

*'He  might  have  got  run  in,"  suggested  the  ap- 
ple-woman. ''Some  of  them  cops  is  mighty  offi- 
cious." 

^'Dodger  would  never  do  anything  to  deserve  ar- 
rest," Florence  said,  quickly. 

"Thrue  for  you,  Florence,  but  some  innersent 
parties  are  nabbed.  I  know  of  one  young  man 
who  was  standin'  on  a  strate  corner  waitin'  for  the 
cars,  when  a  cop  came  up  and  arristed  him  for  dis- 
orderly conduct." 

''But  that  is  shameful!"  said  Florence,  indig- 
nantly. 

'Thrue  for  you,  my  dear.  We  might  go  round 
to  the  police  headquarters  and  inquire  if  the  boy's 
been  run  in." 

''What  do  you  think,  Mr.  Bolton?"  asked  Flor- 
ence. 

Tim  Eolton  seemed  busy  thinking.  Finally  he 
brought  down  his  hand  forcibly  on  the  bar,  and 
said :  "I  begin  to  see  through  it." 

Florence  did  not  speak,  but  she  fixed  an  eager  look 
of  inquiry  on  the  face  of  the  saloon-keeper. 

"I  believe  Curtis  Waring  is  at  the  bottom  of 
this,"  he  said. 

"My  cousin!"  exclaimed  Florence,  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"Yes,  your  cousin.  Miss  Linden." 

"But  what  can  he  have  against  poor  Dodger!  Is 
it  because  the  boy  has  taken  my  part  and  is  a  friend 
to  me?" 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  173 

''He  wouldn't  like  him  any  better  on  account  of 
that;  but  he  has  another  and  a  more  powerful  rea- 
son." 

''Would  you  mind  telling  me  what  it  is?  I  can- 
not conceive  what  it  can  be." 

"At  present,"  answered  Bolton,  cautiously,  "I 
prefer  to  say  nothing  on  the  subject.  I  will  only 
say  the  boy's  disappearance  interferes  with  my 
plans,  and  I  will  see  if  I  can't  find  out  what  has 
become  of  him." 

"If  you  only  will,  Mr.  Bolton,  I  shall  be  so  grate- 
ful. I  am  afraid  I  have  misjudged  you.  I  thought 
you  were  an  enemy  of  Dodger's." 

"Then  you  were  mistaken.  I  have  had  the  boy 
with  me  since  he  was  a  kid,  and  though  I've  been 
rough  with  him  at  times,  maybe,  I  like  him,  and 
I  may  some  time  have  a  chance  to  show  him  that 
old  Tim  Bolton  is  one  of  his  best  friends." 

"I  will  believe  it  now,  Mr.  Bolton,"  said  Flor- 
ence, impulsively,  holding  out  her  hand  to  the  burly 
saloon-keeper. 

He  was  surprised,  but  it  was  evident  that  he  was 
pleased,  also,  and  he  took  the  little  hand  respect- 
fully in  his  own  ample  palm,  and  pressed  it  in  a 
friendly  manner. 

"There's  one  thing  more  I  want  you  to  believe. 
Miss  Linden,"  he  said,  "and  that  is,  that  I  am  your 
friend,  also." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Bolton.  And  now  let  us  all 
work  together  to  find  Dodger." 


174  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"You  can  count  on  me,  Miss  Linden.  If  you'll 
tell  me  where  you  live  I'll  send  or  bring  you  any 
news  I  may  hear." 

"I  live  with  Mrs.  O'Keefe,  my  good  friend, 
here." 

*'I  haven't  my  kyard  with  me,  Tim,"  said  the  ap- 
ple-woman, *'but  I'll  give  you  my  strate  and  num- 
ber.    You  know  my  place  of  business?" 

*'Yes." 

"If  you  come  to  me  there  I'll  let  Florence  know 
whatever  you  tell  me.     She  is  not  always  at  home." 

The  two  went  away  relieved  in  mind,  for,  help- 
less and  bewildered  as  they  were,  they  felt  that  Tim 
Bolton  would  make  a  valuable  ally. 

When  they  had  gone  Tim  turned  to  Hooker  and 
Briggs,  who  were  lounging  at  a  table,  waiting  for 
some  generous  customer  to  invite  them  to  the 
bar. 

"Boys,"  said  Tim,  "has  either  of  you  seen  any- 
thing of  Dodger  lately?" 

"No,"  answered  the  two  in  unison. 

"Have  you  heard  anything  of  him?" 

"I  heard  that  he  was  baggage-smashin'  down  by 
the  steamboat  landings,"  said  Hooker. 

"Go  down  there,  both  of  you,  and  see  if  you  can 
see  or  hear  anything  of  him." 

"All  right,  Tim." 

And  the  two  left  the  saloon  and  took  a  westerly 
route  toward  the  North  River  piers. 

Three  hours  later  they  returned. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  175 

"Have  you  heard  anything?"  asked  Bolton.  "Did 
you  see  Dodger?" 

**No;  we  didn't  see  him." 

*'But  you  heard  something?" 

"Yes;  we  found  a  boy,  a  friend  of  his,  that  said 
the  last  he  saw  of  Dodger  was  last  evenin'." 

"Where  did  he  see  him?" 

"Near  the  pier  of  the  Albany  boats." 

"What  was  he  doin'  ?" 

"Carryin'  a  valise  for  a  man." 

"What  kind  of  a  man?     How  did  he  look?" 

"He  had  gray  hair  and  gray  whiskers." 

Tim  was  puzzled  by  the  description. 

If,  as  he  suspected,  Curtis  were  concerned  in  the 
abduction,  this  man  could  not  have  been  he. 

"The  man  was  a  passenger  by  the  Albany  boat, 
I  suppose?" 

"No;  that  was  what  looked  queer.  Before  the 
Albany  boat  came  in  the  man  was  lyin'  round  with 
his  valise,  and  the  boy  thought  he  was  goin'  off 
somewhere.  But  when  the  boat  came  in  he  just 
mixed  in  with  the  passengers,  and  came  up  to  the 
entrance  of  the  pier.  Two  boys  asked  to  carry  his 
valise,  but  he  shook  his  head  till  Dodger  came 
round,  and  he  engaged  him  right  off." 

Tim  Bolton  nodded  knowingly. 

"It  was  a  plan,"  he  said.  "The  man  wanted  to 
get  hold  of  Dodger.  What  puzzles  me  is,  that  you 
said  he  was  an  old  man." 

"His  hair  and  beard  were  gray." 


176  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

*''And  Curtis  has  no  beard,  and  his  hair  is  black." 

"But  the  boy  said  he  didn't  look  like  an  old  man, 
except  the  hair.     He  walked  off  like  a  young  man." 

Tim  Bolton's  face  lighted  up  with  sudden  intel- 
ligence. 

'Til  bet  a  hat  it  was  Curtis  in  disguise,"  he  solilo- 
quized. 

'That's  all  we  could  find  out,  Mr.  Bolton,"  said 
Briggs,  with  another  longing  look  at  the  bar. 

''It  is  enough!  You  have  earned  your  whiskey. 
Walk  up,  gentlemen!" 

Hooker  and  Briggs  needed  no  second  invitation. 

"Will  either  of  you  take  a  note  for  me  to  Mrs. 
O'Keefe?     For  another  drink,  of  course." 

"I  will,  Tim,"  said  Hooker,  eagerly. 

"No;  take  me,  Mr.  Bolton,"  entreated  Briggs. 

"You  can  both  go,"  said  Tim,  generously.  "Wait 
a  minute,  and  I'll  have  it  ready  for  you." 

He  found  a  half  sheet  of  note  paper,  and  scrib- 
bled on  it  this  message : 

"Mrs.  O'Keefe  :— Tell  Miss  Linden  that  I  have 
a  clew.  I  am  almost  surtin  her  cozen  has  got  away 
with  Dodger.  He  won't  hurt  him,  but  he  will  get 
him  out  of  the  city.     Wen  I  hear  more  I  will  right. 

"T.   Bolton." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  177 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

BOLTON  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY. 

''I  SEE  it  all,"  Bolton  said  to  himself,  thought- 
fully. "Curtis  Waring  is  afraid  of  the  boy — and 
of  me.  He's  circumvented  me  neatly,  and  the  game 
is  his — so  far  my  little  plan  is  dished.  I  must  find 
out  for  certain  whether  he's  had  anything  to  do 
with  gettin'  Dodger  out  of  the  way,  and  then,  Tim 
Bolton,  you  must  set  your  wits  to  work  to  spoil 
his  little  game." 

Bolton  succeeded  in  securing  the  services  of  a 
young  man  who  had  experience  at  tending  bar,  and 
about  eight  o'clock,  after  donning  his  best  attire, 
he  hailed  a  Fourth  Avenue  surface  car  and  got 
aboard. 

Getting  out  at  the  proper  street,  he  made  his 
way  to  Madison  Avenue,  and  ascended  the  stens 
of  John  Linden's  residence. 

The  door  was  opened  by  Jane,  who  eyed  the  vis- 
itor with  no  friendly  glance. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  asked,  in  a  hostile 
tone. 

"Is  Mr.  Waring  at  home?" 

"I  don't  know." 


178  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

*'Is  Miss  Florence  at  home?" 

''Do  you  know  her?"  she  asked. 

"Yes;  I  am  a  friend  of  hers." 

Jane  evidently  thought  that  Florence  must  have 
made  some  queer  friends. 

''Have  you  seen  her  lately?"  she  asked  eagerly.    ^ 

"I  saw  her  to-day." 

*'Is  she  well?" 

"Yes;  she  is  well,  but  she  is  in  trouble." 

"Is  she Does  she  need  any  money?" 

"No;  it  isn't  that.  The  boy  Dodger  has  disap- 
peared, and  she  is  afraid  something  has  happened 
to  him." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  sorry!  He  was  a  good  friend  of 
Miss  Florence." 

"I  see  you  know  him.  I  am  trying  to  help  him 
and  her." 

"But  you  asked  for  Mr.  Waring?"  said  Jane, 
suspiciously. 

"So  I  did.     Shall  I  tell  you  why?" 

"I  wish  you  would." 

"I  think  he  has  something  to  do  with  gettin' 
Dodger  out  of  the  way,  and  Fm  goin'  to  try  to 
find  out." 

"He  won't  tell  you." 

"You  don't  understand.  I  shall  make  him  think 
I  am  on  his  side.     Was  he  at  home  last  night?" 

"He  went  away  at  dinner  time,  and  he  didn't 
come  home  till  after  twelve.  I  ought  to  know,  for 
he  forgot  his  latchkey,  and  I  had  to  get  up  and  let 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  179 

him  in.  I  won't  lo  it  again.  I'll  let  him  stay  out 
first." 

"1  see;  he  was  with  Dodger,  no  doubt.  Did 
you  say  he  was  in  ?" 

"No,  sir;  but  he  will  be  in  directly.  Won't  you 
step  into  the  library?" 

''Shall  I  meet  the  old  gentleman  there?"  asked 
Bolton,  in  a  tone  of  hesitation. 

''No.  He  goes  up  to  his  chamber  directly  after 
dinner." 

"How  is  he?" 

"I  think  he's  failing." 

"I  hope  there  is  no  immediate  danger,"  said  Bol- 
ton, anxiously. 

"No;  but  he's  worrying  about  Miss  Florence. 
It's  my  belief  that  if  she  were  at  home,  he'd  live 
a  good  while." 

"Doesn't  he  ask  for  her?" 

"Mr.  Curtis  tells  him  she'll  come  round  soon  if 
he'll  only  be  firm.  I  don't  see,  for  my  part,  why 
Mr.  Linden  wants  her  to  marry  such  a  disagree- 
able man.  There's  plenty  better  husbands  she  could 
get.  Come  in,  sir,  and  I'll  tell  him  as  soon  as  he 
comes  in.     Shall  you  see  Miss  Florence  soon?" 

"I  think  so." 

"Then  tell  her  not  to  give  up.  Things  will  come 
right  some  time." 

"I'll  tell  her." 

Bolton  was  ushered  into  the  library,  where,  amid 
the  fashionable  furniture  he   looked  quite  out  of 


i8o  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

place.  He  did  not  feel  so,  however,  for  he  drew 
a  cigar  out  of  his  pocket  and,  lighting  it  noncha- 
lantly, leaned  back  in  a  luxurious  armchair  and  be- 
gan to  smoke. 

^'Curtis  Waring  is  well  fixed — that's  a  fact!" 
he  soliloquized.  "I  suppose  he  is  the  master  here, 
for  the  old  man  isn't  likely  to  interfere.  Still  he 
will  like  it  better  when  his  uncle  is  out  of  the  way." 

He  had  to  wait  but  fifteen  minutes  in  solitude, 
for  at  the  end  of  that  time  Curtis  Waring  appeared. 

He  paused  on  the  threshold,  and  frowned  when 
he  saw  who  it  was  that  awaited  him. 

''Jane  told  me  that  a  gentleman  was  waiting  to 
see  me,"  he  said. 

''Well,  she  was  right." 

"And  you,  I  suppose,  are  the  gentleman?"  said 
Curtis,  in  a  sneering  tone. 

"Yes;  I  am  the  gentleman,"  remarked  Bolton, 
coolly. 

"I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  receiving  visits  from 
gentlemen  of  your  class.  However,  I  suppose  you 
have  an  object  in  calling." 

"It  shall  go  hard  with  me  if  I  don't  pay  you 
for  your  sneers  some  day,"  thought  Bolton;  but 
he  remained  outwardly  unruffled. 

"Well,"  he  answered,  "I  can't  say  that  I  have  any 
particular  business  to  see  you  about.  I  saw  your 
cousin  recently." 

"Florence?"  asked  Curtis,  eagerly. 

"Yes.*' 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  i8i 

"What  did  she  say?     Did  you  speak  with  her?'' 

"Yes.  She  doesn't  seem  any  more  willin'  to 
marry  you." 

Curtis  Waring  frowned. 

"She  is  a  fooHsh  girl,"  he  said.  "She  doesn't 
know  her  own  mind." 

"She  looks  to  me  like  a  gal  that  knows  her  own 
mind  particularly  well." 

"Pshaw !  what  can  you  know  about  it?" 

Then  you  really  expect  to  marry  her  some  time, 
Mr.  Waring?" 

"Certainly  I  do." 

"And  to  inherit  your  uncle's  fortune?'* 

"Of  course.     Why  not?" 

"I  was  thinkin'  of  the  boy." 

"The  boy  is  dead " 

"What!"  exclaimed  Bolton,  jumping  to  his  feet 
in  irresistible  excitement. 

"Don't  be  a  fool.  Wait  till  I  finish  my  sen- 
tence. He  is  dead  so  far  as  his  prospects  are  con- 
cerned. Who  is  there  that  can  identify  him  with 
the  lost  child  of  John  Linden?" 

"I  can." 

"Yes;  if  any  one  would  believe  you.  However, 
it  is  for  your  interest  to  keep  silent." 

"That  is  just  what  I  want  to  know.  I  suppose 
you  can  make  it  for  my  interest." 

"Yes,  and  will — after  I  get  the  property.  I  don't 
believe  in  counting  my  chickens  before  they  are 
hatched." 


i82  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"Of  course  you  know  that  the  boy  has  left  me?" 
said  Bolton. 

"Yes,"  answered  Curtis,  indifferently.  "He  is 
with  my  cousin,  I  believe." 

"Yes;  and  through  her  I  can  learn  where  he  is, 
and  get  hold  of  him  if  I  desire." 

A  cynical  smile  played  over  the  face  of  Curtis 
Waring. 

"Do  you  propose  to  get  him  back?"  he  asked, 
shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"I  am  right,"  thought  Bolton,  shrewdly.  "From 
his  manner  it  is  easy  to  see  that  Curtis  is  quite  at 
ease  as  regards  Dodger.     He  knows  where  he  is!" 

"You  asked  me  what  business  I  came  about,  Mr. 
Waring,"  he  said,  after  a  pause. 

"Yes." 

"Of  course  I  am  devoted  to  your  interests,  but 
is  it  quite  fair  to  make  me  wait  till  you  come  into 
your  fortune  before  allowing  me  anything?" 

"I  think  so." 

*'You  don't  seem  to  consider  that  I  can  bring  the 
boy  here  and  make  him  known  to  your  uncle  as  the 
son  he  lost  so  long  ago?" 

"You  are  quite  sure  you  can  bring  the  boy  here?" 
asked  Curtis. 

"Why  not?  I  have  only  to  go  to  Florence  and 
ask  her  to  send  the  boy  to  me." 

"You  are  quite  at  liberty  to  do  so  if  you  like, 
Tim  Bolton,"  said  Curtis,  with  a  mocking  smile. 
"I  am  glad,  at  any  rate,  that  you  have  shown  me 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  183 

what  is  in  your  mind.  You  are  very  sharp,  but 
you  are  not  quite  so  sharp  as  I  am." 

*'I  don't  understand  you." 

*Then  I  will  be  more  explicit.  It's  out  of  your 
power  to  make  use  of  the  boy  against  me,  be- 
cause  " 

"Well?" 

"Because  he  is  not  in  the  city." 

"Where  is  he,  then?" 

"Where  you  are  not  likely  to  find  him." 

"If  you  have  killed  him "  Bolton  began,  but 

Curtis  interrupted  him. 

"'The  boy  is  safe — I  will  tell  you  that  much," 
he  said;  "but  for  reasons  which  you  can  guess,  I 
think  it  better  that  he  should  be  out  of  New  York. 
When  the  proper  time  comes,  and  all  is  safe,  he 
may  come  back,  but  not  in  time  to  help  you  in  your 
cunning  plans,  Mr.  Tim  Bolton." 

"Then,  I  suppose,"  said  Bolton,  assuming  an  air 
of  mortification  and  discomfiture,  "it  is  no  use  for 
me  to  remain  here  any  longer." 

"You  are  quite  right.  I  wish  you  a  pleasant 
journey  home.  Give  my  love  to  Florence  when  you 
see  her." 

"That  man  is  a  fiend!"  soliloquized  Bolton,  as 
he  walked  back,  leisurely,  to  his  place  of  business. 
"Let  me  get  hold  of  Dodger  and  I  will  foil  him 
yet!" 


1 84  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 


CHAPTER   XXVIL 

DODGER      STRIKES      LUCK. 

When  Dodger  landed  in  San  Francisco,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  he  had  made  the  journey  against 
his  will,  he  felt  a  natural  exhilaration  and  pleasure 
in  the  new  and  striking  circumstances  and  scenes 
in  which  he  found  himself  placed. 

It  was  in  the  year  1877,  and  the  city  was  by  no 
means  what  it  is  now.  Yet  it  probably  contained 
not  far  from  two  hundred  thousand  people,  lively, 
earnest,  enterprising.  All  seemed  busy  and  hope- 
ful, and  Dodger  caught  the  contagion. 

As  he  walked  with  the  reporter  to  a  modest  ho- 
tel, where  the  rates  were  a  dollar  and  a  half  a  day, 
not  far  from  Montgomery  Street,  Randolph  Les- 
lie asked : 

"How  do  you  like  San  Francisco  thus  far,  Ar- 
thur?" 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Dodger,  feeling  that 
the  name  by  which  he  had  hitherto  been  known  was 
hardly  likely  to  recommend  him,  adopted  the  one 
given  him  by  Curtis  Waring. 

''I  think  I  shall  like  it  ever  so  much,"  answered 
Dodger.     "Everybody  seems  to  be  wideawake." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  185; 

"Do  you  think  you  will  like  it  better  than  New 
York?'; 

"1  think  a  poor  boy  will  have  more  of  a  chance 
of  making  a  living  here.  In  New  York  I  was  too 
well  known.  If  I  got  a  place  anywhere  some  one 
would  recognize  me  as  Tim  Bolton's  boy — accus- 
tomed to  tend  bar — or  some  gentleman  would  re- 
member that  he  had  bought  papers  of  me.  Here 
nobody  knows  me,  and  I  can  start  fair." 

'There  is  a  great  deal  in  what  you  say,"  returned 
Leslie.     *'What  do  you  think  of  trying  to  do?" 

"First  of  all  I  will  write  a  letter  to  Florence,  and 
tell  her  I  am  all  right.  How  long  does  it  take  a 
letter  to  go  from  here  to  New  York?" 

"About  seven  days." 

"And  it  took  us  over  four  months!  That  seems 
wonderful." 

"Yes;  there  is  a  great  difference  between  coming 
by  sea  around  Cape  Horn  and  speeding  across  the 
country  on  an  express  train." 

"If  I  could  only  know  how  Florence  is  getting 
along,"  Dodger  said,  anxiously.  "I  suppose  she 
thinks  I  am  dead." 

"You  forget  the  letter  you  gave  to  the  vessel 
we  spoke  off  the  coast  of  Brazil." 

"Yes;  but  do  you  think  it  went  straight?" 

"The  chances  are  in  favor  of  it.  However,  your 
idea  is  a  good  one.  Write,  by  all  means,  and  then 
we  will  discuss  future  plans." 

"What  are  your  plans,  Mr.  Leslie?" 


1 86  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

*'I  shall  try  to  secure  a  reporter's  berth  on  one 
of  the  daily  papers — the  Call  or  Chronicle.  I  will 
wait  a  few  days,  however,  as  I  have  a  few  hundred 
dollars  by  me,  and  can  afford  to  take  a  little  time 
to  look  around." 

"I  wish  I  were  as  well  provided;  but  I  have  less 
than  twenty-five  dollars." 

"Don't  worry  about  that,  Arthur,"  said  Ran- 
dolph, laying  his  hand  affectionately  on  the  boy's 
shoulder.     "I  shall  not  allow  you  to  want." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Leslie,"  said  Dodger,  grate- 
fully. "It's  something  new  to  me  to  have  a  friend 
like  you.  But  I  don't  want  to  be  any  expense  to 
you.  I  am  large  enough  and  strong  enough  to  earn 
my  own  living." 

"True;  and  I  feel  sure  you  will  have  a  chance 
in  this  enterprising  city." 

They  bought  copies  of  the  day's  papers,  and  Dod- 
ger looked  eagerly  over  the  advertising  columns. 

At  length  he  saw  an  advertisement  that  read  as 
follows : 

WANTED — A  young  man  of  i8  or  20  to  as- 
sist in  the  office  of  a  local  express.  Inquire  at  No. 
St." 

"Do  you  think  I  would  answer  for  such  a  place?'* 
he  asked. 

"I  don't  see  why  not.  At  any  rate,  'nothing 
venture,  nothing  gain.'  You  may  as  well  go  around 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  187 

and  inquire.  And,  by  the  way,  as  your  suit  is 
rather  shabby,  let  me  lend  you  one  of  mine.  We 
are  of  nearly  the  same  size." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Leslie." 

*Tine  feathers  make  fine  birds,  you  know,  and 
a  neat  dress  always  increases  the  chances  of  an  ap- 
plicant for  employment,  though,  when  it  is  carried 
too  far,  it  is  apt  to  excite  suspicion.  I  remember 
a  friend  of  mine  advertised  for  a  bookkeeper. 
Among  the  applicants  was  a  young  man  wearing 
a  sixty-dollar  suit,  a  ruffled  shirt,  a  handsome  gold 
watch  and  a  diamond  pin.  He  was  a  man  of  taste, 
and  he  was  strongly  impressed  with  the  young 
man's  elegant  appearance.  So,  largely  upon  the 
strength  of  these,  he  engaged  him,  and  in  less  than 
six  months  discovered  that  he  had  been  swindled 
to  the  extent  of  eight  hundred  dollars  by  his  aes- 
thetic bookkeeper." 

"Then  I  will  leave  my  diamond  pin  at  home," 
said  Dodger,  smiling.  "Suppose  they  ask  me  for 
recommendations  ?" 

"I  will  go  with  you  and  indorse  you.  I  hap- 
pen to  know  one  or  two  prominent  gentlemen  in 
San  Francisco — among  them  the  president  of  a  bank 
— and  I  presume  my  indorsement  will  be  sufficient." 

Dodger  went  back  to  the  hotel,  put  on  a  suit  of 
Mr.  Leslie's,  got  his  boots  blacked,  and  then,  in 
company  with  the  young  reporter,  went  to  the  ex- 
press office. 

"I  am  afraid  some  one  will  have  been  engaged 


i88  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

already,"  said  the  reporter;  ''but  if  not,  your 
chances  will  be  good." 

They  entered  a  good-sized  office  on  a  prominent 
street,  and  Dodger  inquired  for  Mr.  Tucker. 

A  small  man  of  about  forty,  keen-eyed  and  alert, 
eyed  him  attentively. 

''I  am  Mr.  Tucker,"  he  said. 

"I  saw  your  advertisement  for  an  assistant,  Mr. 
Tucker,"  said  Dodger,  modestly;  ''have  you  filled 
the  place?" 

"Let  me  see,"  said  Tucker,  reflectively,  "you  are 
the  ninth  young  man  who  has  applied — ^but  the  place 
is  still  open." 

"Then  I  am  afraid  you  won't  want  me,  as  you 
have  rejected  so  many." 

"I  don't  know.  How  long  have  you  been  in  the 
city?" 

"I  only  just  arrived." 

"Where  from?" 

"From  New  York." 

"Have  you  any  idea  of  going  to  the  mines  when 
you  get  money  enough?" 

"I  think  I  would  prefer  to  remain  in  the  city." 

"Good!    How  is  your  education?" 

"I  have  never  been  to  college,"  answered  Dod- 
ger, with  a  smile. 

"Good!  I  don't  care  for  your  college  men.  I 
am  a  practical  man  myself." 

"I  am  a  poor  scholar,  but  Mr.  Leslie  tells  me  I 
write  a  fair  hand." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  189 

**Let  me  see  a  specimen  of  your  writing." 

Now  Dodger  had  taken  special  pains  on  the  voy- 
age to  improve  his  penmanship,  with  excellent  re- 
sults. 

So  it  happened  that  the  specimen  which  he  fur- 
nished had  the  good  fortune  to  please  Mr.  Tucker. 

''Good !"  he  said.  ''You  will,  a  part  of  the  time, 
be  taking  orders.  Your  handwriting  is  plain  and 
will  do.  Never  mind  about  Latin  and  Greek.  You 
won't  need  it.  Qiinese  would  be  more  serviceable 
to  you  here.     When  can  you  go  to  work?" 

"To-morrow  morning.  To-day,  if  necessary," 
answered  Dodger,  promptly. 

Mr.  Tucker  seemed  pleased  with  his  answer. 

"To-morrow  morning  let  it  be,  then!  Hours 
are  from  eight  in  the  morning  till  six  at  night." 

"Very  well,  sir." 

"Your  wages  will  be  fifteen  dollars  a  week.  How 
will  that  suit  you?" 

Dodger  wanted  to  indulge  in  a  loud  whoop  of 
exultation,  for  fifteen  dollars  was  beyond  his  wild- 
est hopes;  but  he  was  too  politic  to  express  his  de- 
light.    So  he  contented  himself  with  saying: 

"I  shall  be  quite  satisfied  with  that." 

"Oh,  by  the  way,  I  suppose  I  ought  to  have  some 
reference,"  said  Mr.  Tucker,  "though  as  a  general 
thing  I  judge  a  good  deal  by  outward  appearance." 

"I  can  refer  you  to  my  friend,  Mr.  Leslie,  here." 

"And  who  will  indorse  him?"  asked  the  express- 
man, shrewdly. 


190  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

Leslie  smiled. 

"1  see,  Air.  Tucker,  you  are  a  thorough  man  of 

business.     I  can  refer  you  to  Mr.  ,  president 

of  the Bank  in  this  city." 

"That  is  sufficient,  sir.  I  am  sure  you  would 
not  refer  me  to  him  unless  you  felt  satisfied  that 
he  would  speak  favorably  of  you.  I  won't,  there- 
fore, take  the  trouble  to  inquire.  Where  are  you 
staying?" 

"At  the  Pacific  Hotel;  but  we  shall  take  a  pri- 
vate apartment  within  a  day  or  two." 

As  they  passed  out  of  the  office,  Randolph  Les- 
lie said : 

"You've  done  splendidly,  Arthur." 

"Haven't  I  ?     I  feel  like  a  millionaire." 

"As  you  are  to  go  to  work  to-morrow,  we  may 
as  well  take  up  a  room  at  once.     It  will  be  cheaper." 

In  a  short  time  they  had  engaged  a  neat  suite 
of  rooms,  two  in  number,  not  far  from  the  Palace 
Hotel,  at  twenty  dollars  per  month. 

The  next  day  Leslie  procured  a  position  on  the 
San  Francisco  Chronicle,  at  twenty-five  dollars  per 
week. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  191 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

FLORENCE  RECEIVES  A  LETTER. 

The  discovery,  through  Tim  Bolton,  that  Cur- 
tis Waring*  had  a  hand  in  the  disappearance  of  Dod- 
ger, partially  relieved  the  anxiety  of  Florence — but 
only  partially. 

He  might  be  detained  in  captivity,  but  even  that 
was  far  better  than  an  accident  to  life  or  limb. 

She  knew  that  he  would  try  to  get  word  to  her 
at  the  earliest  opportunity,  in  order  to  relieve  her 
fears. 

But  week  after  week  passed,  and  no  tidings  came. 

At  length,  at  the  end  of  ten  weeks,  a  note  came 
to  her,  written  on  a  rough  sheet  of  paper,  the  en- 
velope marked  by  a  foreign  stamp. 

It  ran  thus  : 

''Dear  Florence: — I  am  sure  you  have  wor- 
ried over  my  disappearance.  Perhaps  you  thought 
I  was  dead,  but  I  was  never  better  in  my  life.  I 
am  on  the  ship  Columbia,  bound  for  San  Francisco, 
around  Cape  Horn;  and  just  now,  as  one  of  the 
officers  tells  me,  we  are  off  the  coast  of  Brazil. 


192  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

*There  is  a  ship  coming  north,  and  we  are  go- 
ing to  hail  her  and  give  her  letters  to  carry  home, 
so  I  hope  these  few  lines  will  reach  you  all  right. 
I  suppose  I  am  in  for  it,  and  must  keep  on  to  San 
Francisco.  But  I  haven't  told  you  yet  how  I  came 
here. 

"It  was  through  a  trick  of  your  cousin,  Curtis 
Waring.  I  haven't  time  to  tell  you  about  it;  but 
I  was  drugged  and  brought  aboard  in  my  sleep; 
when  I  woke  up  I  was  forty  miles  at  sea. 

"Don't  worry  about  me,  for  I  have  a  good  friend 
on  board,  Mr.  Randolph  Leslie,  who  has  been  a 
reporter  on  one  of  the  New  York  daily  papers. 
He  advises  me  to  get  something  to  do  in  San  Fran- 
cisco, and  work  till  I  have  earned  money  enough 
to  get  home.  He  says  I  can  do  better  there,  where 
I  am  not  known,  and  can  get  higher  pay.  He  is 
giving  me  lessons  every  day,  and  he  says  I  am  learn- 
ing fast. 

"The  ship  is  almost  here,  and  I  must  stop.  Take 
good  care  of  yourself,  and  remember  me  to  Mrs. 
O'Keefe,  and  I  will  write  you  again  as  soon  as  I 
get  to  San  Francisco.  Dodger. 

"P.  S. — Don't  let  on  to  Curtis  that  you  have 
heard  from  me,  or  he  might  try  to  play  me  some 
trick  in  San  Francisco." 

Florence's  face  was  radiant  when  she  had  read 
the  letter. 

Dodger  was  alive,  well,  and  in  good  spirits.   The 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  193 

letter  arrived  during  the  afternoon,  and  she  put  on 
her  street  dress  at  once  and  went  over  to  the  apple- 
stand  and  read  the  letter  to  Mrs.  O'Keefe. 

"Well,  well !"  ejaculated  the  apple-woman.  *'So 
it's  that  ould  thafe  of  the  worruld,  Curtis  Waring, 
that  has  got  hold  of  poor  Dodger,  just  as  Tim  told 
us.  It  seems  mighty  quare  to  me  that  he  should 
want  to  stale  poor  Dodger.  If  it  was  you,  now, 
I  could  understand  it." 

''It  seems  strange  to  me,  Mrs.  O'Keefe,"  said 
Florence,  thoughtfully.  "I  thought  it  might  be  be- 
cause Dodger  was  my  friend,  but  that  doesn't  seem 
to  be  sufficient  explanation.  Don't  you  think  we 
ought  to  show  this  letter  to  Mr.  Bolton?" 

''I  was  going  to  suggest  that  sam.e.  If  you'll 
give  tt  to  me,  Florence,  I'll  get  Mattie  to  tend  my 
stand,  and  slip  round  wid  it  to  Tim's  right  off." 

"I  will  go  with  you,  Mrs.  O'Keefe." 

Mattie,  who  was  playing  around  the  corner,  was 
summoned. 

*'Now,  Mattie,  just  mind  the  stand,  and  don't 
be  runnin'  away,  or  them  boys  will  get  away  wid 
my  whole  mornin's  profits.     Do  you  hear?" 

"Yes,  mum." 

"And  don't  you  be  eatin'  all  the  while  you  are 
here.  Here's  one  apple  you  can  have,"  and  the 
apple-woman  carefully  picked  out  one  that  she  con- 
sidered unsalable. 

"That's  specked,  Mrs.  O'Keefe,"  objected  Mat- 
tie. 


194  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

*'And  what  if  it  is?  Can't  you  bite  out  the 
specks?  The  rest  of  the  apple  is  good.  You're 
gettin'  mighty  particular." 

Mattie  bit  a  piece  out  of  the  sound  part  of  the 
apple,  and,  when  Mrs.  O'Keefe  was  at  a  safe  dis- 
tance, gave  the  rest  to  a  lame  bootblack,  and  picked 
out  one  of  the  best  apples  for  her  own  eating. 

"Bridget  O'Keefe  is  awful  mane  wid  her  ap- 
ples!" soliloquized  Mattie,  "but  I'm  too  smart  for 
her.  Tryin'  to  pass  off  one  of  her  old  specked  ap- 
ples on  me!  If  I  don't  take  three  good  one  I'm 
a  sinner." 

Arrived  at  the  front  of  the  saloon,  Mrs.  O'Keefe 
penetrated  the  interior,  and  met  Tim  near  the 
door. 

"Have  you  come  in  for  some  whiskey,  old  lady?" 
asked  Tim,  in  a  jesting  tone. 

"I'll  take  that  by  and  by.  Florence  is  outside, 
and  we've  got  some  news  for  you." 

"Won't  she  come  in?" 

"No;  she  don't  like  to  be  seen  in  a  place  like 
this.     She's  got  a  letter  from  Dodger." 

"You  don't  mean  it!"  ejaculated  Tim,  with  sud- 
den interest.     "Where  is  he?" 

"Come  out  and  see." 

"Good  afternoon,  Miss  Linden,"  said  Tim,  gal- 
lantly.    "So  you've  news  from  Dodger?" 

"Yes;  here  is  the  letter." 

Bolton  read  it  through  attentively. 

"Curtis  is  smart,"  he  said,  as  he  handed  it  back. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  195 

'Tie  couldn't  have  thought  of  a  better  plan  for  get- 
ting rid  of  the  boy.  It  will  take  several  months  for 
him  to  reach  'Frisco,  and  after  that  he  can't  get 
back,  for  he  won't  have  any  money." 

^'Dodger  says  he  will  try  to  save  money  enough 
to  pay  his  way  back." 

*'It  will  take  him  a  good  while." 

"It  doesn't  take  long  to  come  back  by  cars,  does 
it?" 

"No;  but  it  costs  a  great  deal  of  money.  Why, 
it  may  take  Dodger  a  year  to  earn  enough  to  pay 
his  way  back  on  the  railroad." 

"A  year!"  exclaimed  Florence,  in  genuine  dis- 
may— "a  year,  in  addition  to  the  time  it  takes  to 
go  out  there!  Where  will  we  all  be  at  the  end 
of  that  time?" 

"Not  in  jail,  I  hope,"  answered  Bolton,  jocularly. 
"I  am  afraid  your  uncle  will  no  longer  be  in  the 
land  of  the  living." 

A  shadow  came  over  Florence's  face. 

"Poor  Uncle  John!"  she  said,  sadly.  "It  is  ter- 
rible to  think  he  may  die  thinking  hardly  of  me." 

"Leavin'  his  whole  fortune  to  Curtis,"  continued 
Tim. 

"That  is  the  least  thing  that  troubles  me,"  said 
Florence. 

"A  woman's  a  queer  thing,"  said  Tim^  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders.  "Here's  a  fortune  oi^  maybe 
half  a  million,  and  half  of  it  rightfully  yours,  and 
you  don't  give  it  a  thought." 


196  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"Not  compared  with  the  loss  of  my  uncle's  af- 
fections." 

''Money  is  a  great  deal  more  practical  than  af- 
fection." 

"Perhaps  so,  from  your  standpoint,  Mr.  Bolton," 
said  Florence,  with  dignity. 

"No  offense,  miss.  When  youVe  lived  as  long 
as  I,  you'll  look  at  things  different.  Well,  I'm 
glad  to  hear  from  the  lad.  If  Curtis  had  done  him 
any  harm,  I'd  have  got  even  with  him  if  it  sent 
me  to  jail." 

A  quiet,  determined  look  replaced  Tim  Bolton's 
usual  expression  of  easy  good  humor.  He  could 
not  have  said  anything  that  would  have  ingratiated 
him  more  with  Florence. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Bolton,"  she  said,  earnestly. 
"I  shall  always  count  upon  your  help.  I  believe 
you  are  a  true  friend  of  Dodger " 

"And  of  yours,  too,  miss " 

"I  believe  it,"  she  said,  with  a  smile  that  quite 
captivated  Tim. 

"If  it  would  be  any  satisfaction  to  you.  Miss 
Florence,"  he  continued,  "I'll  give  Curtis  Waring 
a  lickin'.  He  deserves  it  for  persecutin'  you  and 
gettin'  you  turned  out  of  your  uncle's  house." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Bolton;  it  wouldn't  be  any  sat- 
isfaction to  me  to  see  Curtis  injured  in  any  way." 

"You're  too  good  a  Christian,  you  are,  Miss  Flor- 
ence." 

"I  wish  I  deserved  your  praise,  but  I  can  hardly 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  197 

lay  claim  to  it.  Now,  Mr.  Bolton,  tell  me  what 
can  I  do  to  help  Dodger?" 

"I  don't  see  that  you  can  do  anything  now,  as 
it  will  be  most  three  months  before  he  reaches 
'Frisco.  You  might  write  to  him  toward  the  time 
he  gets  there." 

"I  will." 

''Direct  to  the  post  office.  I  think  he'll  have 
sense  enough  to  ask  for  letters." 

"I  wish  I  could  send  him  some  money.  I  am 
afraid  he  will  land  penniless." 

"If  he  lands  in  good  health  you  can  trust  him 
for  makin'  a  livin'.  A  New  York  boy,  brought  up 
as  he  was,  isn't  goin'  to  starve  where  there  are  pa- 
pers to  sell  and  errands  to  run.  Why,  he'll  light  on 
his  feet  in  'Frisco,  take  my  word  for  it." 

Florence  felt  a  good  deal  encouraged  by  Tim's 
words  of  assurance,  and  she  went  home  with  her 
heart  perceptibly  lightened. 

But  she  was  soon  to  have  trials  of  her  own,  which 
for  the  time  being  would  make  her  forgetful  of 
Dodger. 


198  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 
MRS.    leighton's   party. 

"Miss  Linden,"  said  Mrs.  Leighton,  one  day  in 
the  fourth  month  of  Dodger's  absence,  ''Carrie  has 
perhaps  told  you  that  I  give  a  party  next  Thursday 
evening." 

''She  told  me,"  answered  the  governess. 

*'I  expected  Prof.  Bouvier  to  furnish  dancing 
music — in  fact,  I  had  engaged  him — but  I  have 
just  received  a  note  stating  that  he  is  unwell,  and 
I  am  left  unprovided.  It  is  very  inconsiderate  on 
his  part,"  added  the  lady,  in  a  tone  of  annoyance. 

Florence  did  not  reply.  She  took  rather  a  dif- 
ferent view  of  the  professor's  letter,  and  did  not 
care  to  offend  Mrs.  Leighton. 

"Under  the  circumstances,"  continued  the  lady, 
"it  has  occurred  to  me  that,  as  you  are  really  quite 
a  nice  performer,  you  might  fill  his  place.  I  shall 
be  willing  to  allow  you  a  dollar  for  the  evening. 
What  do  you  say?" 

Florence  felt  embarrassed.  She  shrank  from  ap- 
pearing in  society  in  her  present  separation  from  her 
family,  yet  could  think  of  no  good  excuse.     Notic- 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  199 

ing  her  hesitation,  Mrs.  Leighton  added,  patroniz- 
ingly : 

''On  second  thought,  I  will  pay  you  a  dollar  and 
a  half — Prof.  Bouvier  was  to  have  charged  ten 
dollars — "and  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  come  in 
your  best  attire.  You  seem  to  be  well  provided 
with  dresses." 

"Yes,  madam,  there  will  be  no  difficulty  on  that 
score." 

"Nor  on  any  other,  I  hope.  As  governess  in 
my  family,  I  think  I  have  a  right  to  command  your 
services." 

"I  will  come,"  said  Florence,  meekly.  She  felt 
that  it  would  not  do  to  refuse  after  this. 

As  she  entered  the  handsomely  decorated  rooms 
on  the  night  of  the  party,  she  looked  around  her 
nervously,  fearing  to  see  some  one  whom  she  had 
known  in  earlier  days.  She  noticed  one  only — 
Percy  de  Brabazon,  whose  face  lighted  up  when  he 
saw  her,  for  he  had  been  expecting  to  see  her. 

She  managed  to  convey  a  caution  by  a  quiet 
movement,  as  it  would  not  be  wise  for  Mrs.  Leigh- 
ton  to  know  of  their  previous  acquaintance.  But 
Percy  was  determined  to  get  an  opportunity  to 
speak  to  her. 

"Who  is  that  young  lady.  Aunt  Mary?"  he  asked. 
"The  one  standing  near  the  piano." 

"That  is  Carrie's  governess,"  answered  Mrs. 
Leighton,  carelessly. 

"She  seems  quite  a  ladylike  person." 


200  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"Yes.  I  understand  she  has  seen  better  days. 
She  is  to  play  for  us  in  the  absence  of  Prof.  Bou- 
vier." 

"Will  you  introduce  me,  aunt?'* 

"Why?"  asked  Mrs.  Leighton,  with  a  searching 
look. 

"I  should  like  to  inquire  about  Carrie's  progress 
in  her  studies,"  said  the  cunning  Percy. 

"Oh,  certainly,"  answered  the  aunt,  quite  de- 
ceived by  his  words. 

"Miss  Linden,"  she  said,  "let  me  introduce  my 
nephew,  Mr.  de  Brabazon.  He  wishes  to  inquire 
about  Carrie's  progress  in  her  studies." 

And  the  lady  sailed  off  to  another  part  of  the 
room. 

"I  can  assure  you,  Mr.  de  Brabazon,"  said  Flor- 
ence, "that  my  young  charge  is  making  excellent 
progress." 

"I  can  easily  believe  it,  under  your  instruction," 
said  Percy. 

"I  am  very  glad  you  take  such  an  interest  in  your 
cousin,"  added  Florence,  with  a  smile.  "It  does 
you  great  credit." 

"It's  only  an  excuse,  you  know,  to  get  a  chance 
to  talk  with  you.  Miss  Linden.  May  I  say  Miss 
Florence?" 

"No,"  answered  Florence,  decidedly.  "It  won't 
'do.     You  must  be  very  formal." 

"Then  tell  me  how  you  like  teaching." 

"Very  well,  indeed." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  201 

"It  must  be  an  awful  bore,  I  think." 

*'l  don't  think  so.  Carrie  is  a  warm-hearted,  af- 
fectionate girl.  Besides,  she  is  very  bright  and 
gives  me  very  little  trouble." 

''Don't  you  think  you  could  take  another  pupil, 
Miss  Linden?" 

"A  young  girl?" 

"No,  a  young  man.     In  fact,   myself." 

"What  could  I  teach  you,  Mr.  de  Brabazon?" 

"Lots  of  things.  I  am  not  very  sound  in — in 
spelling  and  grammar." 

"What  a  pity!"  answered  Florence,  with  mock 
seriousness.  "I  am  afraid  your  aunt  would  hardly 
consent  to  have  a  boy  of  your  size  in  the  school- 
room." 

"Then  perhaps  you  could  give  me  some  private 
lessons  in  the  afternoon?" 

"That  would  not  be  possible." 

Just  then  Mrs.  Leighton  came  up. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "what  does  Miss  Linden  say 
of  Carrie?" 

"She  has  quite  satisfied  my  mind  about  her,"  an- 
swered Percy,  with  excusable  duplicity.  "I  think 
her  methods  are  excellent.  I  was  telling  her  that 
I  might  be  able  to  procure  her  another  pupil." 

"I  have  no  objection,  as  long  as  it  does  not  in- 
terfere with  Carrie's  hours.  Miss  Linden,  there  is 
a  call  for  music.  Will  you  go  to  the  piano  and 
play  a  Stauss  waltz?" 

Florence  inclined  her  head  obediently. 


202  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

*'Let  me  escort  you  to  the  piano,  Miss  Linden," 
said  Percy. 

*Thank  you,"  answered  Florence,  in  a  formal 
tone. 

For  an  hour  Florence  was  engaged  in  playing 
waltzes,  gallops  and  lanciers  music.  Then  a  lady 
who  was  proud  of  her  daughter's  proficiency  volun- 
teered her  services  to  reheve  Florence. 

"Now  you  can  dance  yourself,"  said  Percy,  in 
a  low  tone.     "Will  you  give  me  a  waltz?" 

"Not  at  once.     Wait  till  the  second  dance." 

Percy  de  Brabazon  was  prompt  in  presenting  him- 
self as  soon  as  permitted,  and  he  led  Florence  out 
for  a  dance. 

Both  were  excellent  dancers,  and  attracted  gen- 
era! attention. 

Florence  really  enjoyed  dancing,  and  forgot  for 
a  time  that  she  was  only  a  guest  on  sufferance,  as 
she  moved  with  rhythmic  grace  about  the  handsome 
rooms. 

Percy  was  disposed  to  prolong  the  dance,  but 
Florence  was  cautious. 

"I  think  I  will  rest  now,  Mr.  de  Brabazon,"  she 
said. 

"You  will  favor  me  again  later  in  the  evening?" 
he  pleaded. 

"I  hardly  think  it  will  be  wise." 

But  when,  half  an  hour  later,  he  asked  her  again, 
Florence  could  not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  say  no. 
It  would  have  been  wise  if  she  had  done  so.     A 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  203 

pair  of  jealous  eyes  was  fixed  upon  her.  Miss 
Emily  Carter  had  for  a  considerable  time  tried  to 
fascinate  Mr.  de  Brabazon,  whose  wealth  made  him 
a  very  desirable  match,  and  she  viewed  his  decided 
penchant  for  Florence  with  alarm  and  indignation. 

"To  be  thrown  in  the  shade  by  a  governess  is 
really  too  humiliating!"  she  murmured  to  herself 
in  vexation,  "li  it  were  a  girl  in  my  own  station 
I  should  not  care  so  much,"  and  she  eyed  Florence 
with  marked  hostility. 

''Mamma,"  she  said,  ''do  you  see  how  Mr.  de 
Barbazon  is  carrying  on  with  Mrs.  Leighton's  gov- 
erness?    Really,  I  think  it  very  discreditable." 

Mrs.  Carter  looked  through  her  gold  eye-glasses 
at  the  couple. 

"Is  the  girl  really  a  governess?"  she  added.  "She 
is  very  well  dressed." 

"I  don't  know  where  she  got  her  dress,  but  she 
is  really  a  governess." 

"She  seems  very  bold." 

"So  she  does." 

Poor  Florence !  She  was  far  from  deserving  their 
unkindly  remarks. 

"I  suppose  she  is  trying  to  ensnare  young  de 
Brabazon,"  said  Emily,  spitefully.  "People  of  her 
class  are  very  artful.  Don't  you  think  it  would 
be  well  to  call  Mrs.  Leighton's  attention?  Percy 
de  Brabazon  is  her  nephew,  you  know." 

"True.     The  suggestion  is  a  good  one,  Emily." 

Mrs.  Carter  was  quite  as  desirous  as  her  daugh- 


204  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

ter  of  bringing  about  an  alliance  with  Percy,  and 
she  readily  agreed  to  second  her  plans. 

She  looked  about  for  Mrs.  Leighton,  and  took 
a  seat  at  her  side. 

**Your  nephew  seems  quite  attentive  to  your  gov- 
erness," she  commenced. 

^'Indeed!     In  what  w^ay?" 

*'He  has  danced  with  her  three  or  four  times. 
I  believe.     It  looks  rather  marked." 

"So  it  does,"  said  Mrs.  Leighton.  **He  is  quite 
inconsiderate." 

"Oh,  well,  it  is  of  no  great  consequence.  She 
is  quite  stylish  for  a  governess,  and  doubtless  your 
nephew  is  taken  with  her." 

"That  will  not  suit  my  views  at  all,"  said  Mrs. 
Leighton,  coldly.  "I  shall  speak  to  her  to-mor- 
row." 

"Pray  don't.  It  really  is  a  matter  of  squall  con- 
sequence— quite  natural,  in  fact." 

"Leave  the  matter  with  me.  You  have  done 
quite  right  in  mentioning  it." 

At  twelve  o'clock  the  next  day,  when  Florence 
had  just  completed  her  lessons  with  Carrie,  Mrs. 
Leighton  entered  the  room. 

"Please  remain  a  moment.  Miss  Linden,"  she 
said.     "I  have  a  few  words  to  say  to  you." 

Mrs.  Leighton's  tone  was  cold  and  unfriendly, 
and  Florence  felt  that  something  unpleasant  was 
coming. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  205 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

FLORENCE    IS    FOLLOWED    HOME. 

"I  AM  listening,  madam,"  said  Florence,  inclin- 
ing her  head. 

''I  wish  to  speak  to  you  about  last  evening,  Miss 
Linden." 

"I  hope  my  playing  was  satisfactory,  Mrs.  Leigh- 
ton.     I  did  my  best." 

*'I  have  no  fault  to  find  with  your  music.  It 
came  up  to  my  expectations." 

"I  am  glad  of  that,  madam." 

*1  referred,  rather,  to  your  behavior.  Miss  Lin- 
den." 

"I  don't  understand  you,  Mrs.  Leighton,"  Flor- 
ence responded,  in  unaffected  surprise.  *Tlease  ex- 
plain." 

*'You  danced  several  times  with  my  nephew,  Mr. 
Percy  de  Brabazon." 

"Twice,  madam." 

"I  understood  it  was  oftener.  However,  that  is 
immaterial.  You  hardly  seemed  conscious  of  your 
position." 

**What  was  my  position,  Mrs.  Leighton?"  asked 


2o6  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

Florence,  quietly,  looking  her  employer  in  the  face. 
**Well — ahem!"   answered  Mrs.  Leighton,  a  lit- 
tle ill  at  ease,  ''you  were  a  hired  musician." 
'Well?" 

"And  you  acted  as  if  you  were  an  invited  guest." 

"I  am  sorry  you  did  not  give  me  instructions  as 

to   my  conduct,"   said   the  governess,    coldly.      "I 

should  not  have  danced  if  I  had  been  aware  that 

it  was  prohibited." 

"I  am  sorry.  Miss  Linden,  that  you  persist  in 
misunderstanding  me.  Mr.  de  Brabazon,  being  in 
a  different  social  position  from  yourself,  it  looked 
hardly  proper  that  he  should  have  devoted  himself 
to  you  more  than  to  any  other  lady." 

"Did  he?  I  was  not  aware  of  it.  Don't  you 
think,  under  the  circumstances,  that  he  is  the  one 
whom  you  should  take  to  task?  I  didn't  invite 
his  attentions." 

"You  seemed  glad  to  receive  them." 
"I  was.     He  is  undoubtedly  a  gentleman." 
"Certainly  he  is.     He  is  my  nephew." 
"It  was  not  my  part  to  instruct  him  as  to  what 
was  proper,  surely." 

"You  are  very  plausible.  Miss  Linden,  I  think 
it  right  to  tell  you  that  your  conduct  was  commented 
upon  by  one  of  my  lady  guests  as  unbecoming. 
However,  I  will  remember,  in  extenuation,  that  you 
are  unaccustomed  to  society,  and  doubtless  erred 
ignorantly." 

Florence  bowed,  but  forbore  to  make  any  remark. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  207 

"Do  you  wish  to  speak  further  to  me,  Mrs.  Leigh- 
ton?'^ 

"No,  I  think  not." 

"Then  I  will  bid  you  good-morning." 

When  the  governess  had  left  the  house,  Mrs. 
Leighton  asked  herself  whether  in  her  encounter 
with  her  governess  the  victory  rested  with  her,  and 
she  was  forced  to  acknowledge  that  it  was  at  least 
a  matter  of  doubt. 

"Miss  Linden  is  a  faithful  teacher,  but  she  does 
not  appear  to  appreciate  the  difference  that  exists 
between  her  and  my  guests.  I  think,  however,  that 
upon  reflection,  she  w411  see  that  I  am  right  in  my 
stricture  upon  her  conduct." 

Florence  left  the  house  indignant  and  mortified. 
It  was  something  new  to  her  to  be  regarded  as  a 
social  inferior,  and  she  felt  sure  that  there  were 
many  in  Mrs.  Leighton's  position  who  would  have 
seen  no  harm  in  her  behavior  on  the  previous  even- 
ing. 

Four  days  afterward,  when  Florence  entered  the 
Madison  Avenue  car  to  ride  downtown,  she  had 
scarcely  reached  her  seat  when  an  eager  voice  ad- 
dressed her : 

"Miss  Linden,  how  fortunate  I  am  in  meeting 
you!" 

Florence  looked  up  and  saw  Mr.  de  Brabazon 
sitting  nearly  opposite  her. 

Though  she  felt  an  esteem  for  him,  she  was  sorry 
to  see  him,  for,  with  Mrs.  Leighton's  rebuke  fresh 


2o8  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

in  her  mind,  it  could  only  be  a  source  of  embar- 
rassment, and,  if  discovered,  subject  her  in  all  prob- 
ability to  a  fresh  reprimand. 

''You  are  kind  to  say  so,  Mr.  de  Brabazon." 

"Not  at  all.  I  hoped  I  might  meet  you  again 
soon.     What  a  pleasant  time  we  had  at  the  party." 

''I  thought  so  at  the  time,  but  the  next  day  I 
changed  my  mind." 

"Why,  may  I  ask?" 

"Because  your  aunt,  Mrs.  Leighton,  took  me  to 
task  for  dancing  with  you  twice." 

"Was  she  so  absurd?"  ejaculated  Percy. 

"It  is  not  necessarily  absurd.  She  said  our  so- 
cial positions  were  so  different  that  it  was  unbe- 
coming for  me  to  receive  attention  from  you." 

"Rubbish!"  exclaimed  Percy,  warmly. 

"I  am  afraid  I  ought  not  to  listen  to  such  stric- 
tures upon  the  words  of  my  employer." 

"I  wish  you  didn't  have  to  teach." 

"I  can't  join  you  in  that  wish.  I  enjoy  my 
work." 

"But  you  ought  to  be  relieved  from  the  neces- 
sity." 

"We  must  accept  things  as  we  find  them,"  said 
Florence,  gravely. 

'There  is  a  way  out  of  it,"  said  Percy,  quickly. 
"You  understand  me,  do  you  not?" 

"I  think  I  do,  Mr.  de  Brabazon,  and  I  am  grate- 
ful to  you,  but  I  am  afraid  it  can  never  be." 

Percy  remained  silent. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  209 

**How  far  are  you  going?"  asked  Florence,  un- 
easily, for  she  did  not  care  to  have  her  companion 
learn  where  she  lived. 

"I  intend  to  get  out  at  Fourteenth  Street.'' 

"Then  I  must  bid  you  good-afternoon,  for  we 
are  already  at  Fifteenth  Street." 

"If  I  can  be  of  any  service  to  you,  I  will  ride 
farther." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Florence,  hastily,  "but  it  is 
quite  unnecessary." 

"Then,  good  morning!" 

And  Percy  descended  from  the  car. 

In  another  part  of  the  car  sat  a  young  lady,  who 
listened  with  sensations  far  from  pleasant  to  the 
conversation  that  had  taken  place  between  Florence 
and  Mr.  de  Brabazon. 

It  was  Emily  Carter,  whose  jealousy  had  been 
excited  on  the  evening  of  the  party.  She  dropped 
her  veil,  fearing  to  be  recognized  by  Mr.  de  Bra- 
bazon, with  whom  she  was  well  acquainted.  She, 
too,  had  intended  getting  off  at  Fourteenth  Street, 
but  decided  to  remain  longer  in  the  car. 

"I  will  find  out  where  that  girl  lives,"  she  re- 
solved. "Her  conduct  with  Percy  de  Brabazon  is 
positively  disgraceful.  She  is  evidently  doing  her 
best  to  captivate  him.  I  feel  that  it  is  due  to  Mrs. 
Leighton,  who  would  be  shocked  at  the  thought 
of  her  nephew's  making  a  low  alliance,  to  find  out 
all  I  can,  and  put  her  on  her  guard." 

She  kept  her  seat,  still  keeping  her  veil  down, 


210  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

for  it  was  possible  that  Florence  might  recognize 
her ;  and  the  car  moved  steadily  onward  till  it  turned 
into  the  Bowery. 

"Where  on  earth  is  she  leading  me?"  Miss  Car- 
ter asked  herself.  ''I  have  never  been  in  this  neigh- 
borhood before.  However,  it  won't  do  to  give  up, 
when  I  am,  perhaps,  on  the  verge  of  some  important 
discoveries." 

Still  the  car  sped  on.  Not  far  from  Grand 
Street,  Florence  left  the  car,  followed,  though  she 
was  unconscious  of  it,  by  her  aristocratic  fellow- 
passenger. 

Florence  stopped  a  moment  to  speak  to  Mrs. 
O'Keefe  at  her  apple-stand. 

*'So  you're  through  wid  your  work,  Florence. 
Are  you  goin'  home?" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  O'Keefe." 

"Then  I'll  go  wid  you,  for  Fve  got  a  nasty  head- 
ache, and  I'll  lie  down  for  an  hour." 

They  crossed  the  street,  not  noticing  the  veiled 
young  lady,  who  followed  within  ear  shot,  and 
listened  to  their  conversation.  At  length  they 
reached  the  tenement  house — Florence's  humble 
home — and  went  in. 

"I've  learned  more  than  I  bargained  for,"  said 
Emily  Carter,  in  malicious  exultation.  "I  am  well 
repaid  for  coming  to  this  horrid  part  of  the  city. 
I  wonder  if  Mr.  de  Brabazon  knows  where  his 
charmer  lives?  I  will  see  that  Mrs.  Leighton 
knows,  at  any  rate." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  211 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


FLORENCE    IS    DISCHARGED. 


Mrs.  Leighton  sat  in  her  boudoir  with  a  stern 
face  and  tightly  compressed  Hps.  Miss  Carter  had 
called  the  previous  afternoon  and  informed  her 
of  the  astounding  discoveries  she  had  made  respect- 
ing the  governess. 

She  rang  the  bell. 

''Janet,"  she  said,  "when  the  governess  comes 
you  may  bring  her  up  here  to  me." 

''Yes,  ma'am." 

"She's  going  to  catch  it — I  wonder  what  for?" 
thought  Janet,  as  she  noted  the  grim  visage  of  her 
employer. 

So  when  Florence  entered  the  house  she  was 
told  that  Mrs.  Leighton  wished  to  see  her  at  once. 

"I  wonder  what's  the  matter  nov/?"  she  asked 
herself.  "Has  she  heard  of  my  meeting  her  nephew 
in  the  car?" 

When  she  entered  the  room  she  saw  at  once  that 
something  was  wrong. 

"You  wished  to  see  me,  Mrs.  Leighton?"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Leighton,  grimly.  "Will 
you  be  seated?" 


212  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

Florence  sat  down  a  few  feet  from  her  employer 
and  waited  for  an  explanation. 

She  certainly  was  not  prepared  for  Mrs.  Leigh- 
ton's  first  words: 

*'Miss  Linden,  where  do  you  live?" 

Florence  started,  and  her  face  flushed. 

"I  live  in  the  lower  part  of  the  city/'  she  an- 
swered, with  hesitation. 

"That  is  not  sufficiently  definite." 

"1  live  at  No.  2y Street." 

*'I  think  that  is  east  of  the  Bowery." 

"You  are  right,  madam." 

"You  lodge  with  an  apple- woman,  do  you  not?" 

"I  do,"  answered  Florence,  calmly. 

"In  a  tenement  house?" 

"Yes,  madam." 

"And  you  actually  come  from  such  a  squalid 
home  to  instruct  my  daughter!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Leighton,  indignantly.  "It  is  a  wonder  you  have 
not  brought  some  terrible  disease  into  the  house." 

"There  has  been  no  case  of  disease  in  the  hum- 
ble dwelling  in  which  I  make  my  home.  I  should 
be  as  sorry  to  expose  your  daughter  to  any  danger 
of  that  kind  as  you  would  be  to  have  me." 

"It  is  a  merciful  dispensation  of  Providence,  for 
which  I  ought  to  be  truly  thankful.  But  the  idea 
of  receiving  in  my  house  an  inmate  of  a  tenement 
house!  I  am  truly  shocked.  Is  this  apple-woman 
your  mother?" 

"I  assure  you  that  she  is  not,"  answered  Flfir- 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  213 

ence,   with  a   smile  which  she  could   not   repress. 

''Or  your  aunt?" 

"She  is  in  no  way  related  to  me.  She  is  an 
humble  friend. 

''Miss  Linden,  your  tastes  must  be  low  to  select 
such  a  home  and  such  a  friend." 

"The  state  of  my  purse  had  something  to  do  with 
the  selection,  and  the  kindness  shown  me  by  Mrs. 
O'Keefe,  when  I  needed  a  friend,  will  explain  my 
location  further." 

"That  is  not  all.  You  met  in  the  Madison  Ave- 
nue car  yesterday  my  nephew,  Mr.  Percy  de  Bra- 
bazon." 

"It  is  coming,"  thought  Florence.  "Who  could 
have  seen  us?"     Then  aloud: 

"Yes,  madam." 

"Was  it  by  appointment?" 

"Do  you  mean  to  insult  me,  Mrs.  Leighton?"  de- 
manded Florence,  rising  and  looking  at  the  lady 
with  flashing  eyes. 

"I  never  insult  anybody,"  replied  Mrs.  Leighton. 
"Pray,  resume  your  seat." 

Florence  did  so. 

"Then  I  may  assume  that  it  was  accidental.  You 
talked  together  with  the  freedom  of  old  friends?" 

"You  are  correctly  informed." 

"You  seem  to  make  acquaintances  very  readily. 
Miss  Linden.  It  seems  singular,  to  say  the  least, 
that  after  meeting  my  nephew  for  a  single  evening, 
you  should  become  such  intimate  friends." 


214  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"You  will  be  surprised,  Mrs.  Leighton,  when  I 
say  that  Mr.  de  Brabazon  and  I  are  old  friends. 
We  have  met  frequently." 

''Where,  in  Heaven's  name?"  ejaculated  Mrs. 
Leighton. 

''At  my  residence." 

"Good  Heavens !"  exclaimed  the  scandalized  lady. 
"Does  my  nephew  Percy  visit  at  the  house  of  this 
apple- woman  ?" 

"No,  madam.     He  does  not  know  where  I  live." 

"Then  you  will  explain  your  previous  statement?" 
said  Mrs.  Leighton,  haughtily. 

"I  am  at  present  suffering  reversed  circumstances. 
It  is  but  a  short  time  since  I  was  very  differently 
situated." 

"I  won't  inquire  into  your  change  of  circum- 
stances. I  feel  compelled  to  perform  an  unpleas- 
ant duty." 

Florence  did  not  feel  called  upon  to  make  any 
reply,  but  waited  for  Mrs.  Leighton  to  finish  speak- 
ing. 

"I  shall  be  obliged  to  dispense  with  your  serv- 
ices as  my  daughter's  governess.  It  is  quite  out 
of  the  question  for  me  to  employ  a  person  who  lives 
in  a  tenement-house." 

Florence  bowed  acquiescence,  but  she  felt  very 
sad.  She  had  become  attached  to  her  young  charge, 
and  it  cost  her  a  pang  to  part  from  her. 

Besides,  how  was  she  to  supply  the  income  of 
which  this  would  deprive  her? 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  215 

"I  bow  to  your  decision,  madam/'  she  said,  with 
proud  humiHty. 

''You  will  find  here  the  sum  that  I  owe  you,  with 
payment  for  an  extra  week  in  lieu  of  notice." 

'Thank  you.  May  I  bid  Carrie  good-by,  Mrs. 
Leighton?" 

"It  is  better  not  to  do  so,  I  think.  The  more 
quietly  we  dissolve  our  unfortunate  connection  the 
better!" 

Florence's  heart  swelled,  and  the  tears  came  to 
her  eyes,  but  she  could  not  press  her  request. 

She  was  destined,  however,  to  obtain  the  privi- 
lege which  Mrs.  Leigh  ton  denied  her.  Carrie,  who 
had  become  impatient,  came  downstairs  and  burst 
into  the  room. 

"What  keeps  you  so  long.  Miss  Linden?"  she 
said.     "Is  mamma  keeping  you?" 

Florence  was  silent,  leaving  the  explanations  to 
Mrs.  Leighton. 

"Miss  Linden  has  resigned  her  position  as  your 
governess,  Carrie." 

"Miss  Linden  going  away!  I  won't  have  her 
go !     What  makes  you  go.  Miss  Linden  ?" 

"Your  mamma  thinks  it  best,"  answered  Flor- 
ence, with  moistened  eyes. 

"Well,  I  don't!"  exclaimed  Carrie,  stamping  her 
foot,  angrily.  "I  won't  have  any  other  governess 
but  you." 

"Carrie,  you  are  behaving  very  unbecomingly," 
said  her  mother. 


2i6  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"Will  you  tell  me,  mamma,  why  you  are  sending 
Miss  Linden  away?" 

"I  will  tell  you  some  other  time." 

"But  I  want  to  know  now." 

"I  am  very  much  displeased  with  you,  Carrie." 

"And  I  am  very  much  displeased  with  you, 
mamma." 

I  do  not  pretend  to  defend  Carrie,  whose  con- 
duct was  hardly  respectful  enough  to  her  mother; 
but  with  all  her  faults  she  had  a  warm  heart,  while 
her  mother  had  always  been  cold  and  selfish. 

"I  am  getting  tired  of  this,"  said  Mrs.  Leighton. 
"Miss  Linden,  as  you  are  here  to-day,  you  may  give 
Carrie  the  usual  lessons.  As  I  shall  be  out  when 
you  get  through,  I  bid  you  good-by  now." 

"Good-by,  Mrs.  Leighton." 

Carrie  and  Florence  went  to  the  schoolroom  for 
the  last  time. 

Florence  gave  her  young  pupil  a  partial  explana- 
tion of  the  cause  which  had  led  to  her  discharge. 

"What  do  I  care  if  you  live  in  a  poor  house.  Miss 
Linden?"  said  Carrie,  impetuously.  "I  will  make 
mamma  take  you  back !" 

Florence  smiled;  but  she  knew  that  there  would 
be  no  return  for  her. 

When  she  reached  her  humble  home  she  had  a 
severe  headache  and  lay  down.  Mrs.  O'Keefe  came 
in  later  to  see  her. 

"And  what's  the  matter  with  you,  Florence?" 
she  asked. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  217 

/'I  have  a  bad  headache,  Mrs.  O'Keefe." 

*'You  work  too  hard,  Florence,  wid  your  teach- 
er.    That  is  what  gives  you  the  headache." 

'Then  I  shan't  have  it  again,  for  I  have  got 
through  with  my  teaching." 

"What's  that  you  say?" 

"I  am  discharged." 

"And  what's  it  all  about?" 

Florence  explained  matters.  Mrs.  O'Keefe  be- 
came indignant. 

"She's  a  mean  trollop,  that  Mrs.  Leighton!"  she 
exclaimed,  "and  I'd  like  to  tell  her  so  to  her  face. 
Where  does  she  live?" 

"It  will  do  no  good  to  interfere,  my  good  friend. 
She  is  not  willing  to  receive  a  governess  from  a 
tenement  house.  " 

"Shure  you  used  to  live  in  as  grand  a  house  as 
herself." 

"But  I  don't  now." 

"Don't  mind  it  too  much,  mavoureen.  You'll 
soon  be  gettin'  another  scholar.  Go  to  sleep  now, 
and  you'll  sleep  the  headache  away." 

Florence  finally  succeeded  in  following  the  advice 
of  her  humble  friend. 

She  resolved  to  leave  till  the  morrow  the  cares 
of  the  morrow. 

She  had  twelve  dollars,  and  before  that  was  spent 
she  hoped  to  be  in  a  position  to  earn  some  more. 


2i8  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

AN     EXCITING     ADVENTURE. 

Dodger  soon  became  accustomed  to  his  duties  at 
Tucker's  express  office,  in  his  new  San  Francisco 
home.  He  found  Mr.  Tucker  an  exacting,  but  not 
an  unreasonable,  man.  He  watched  his  new  as- 
sistant closely  for  the  first  few  days,  and  was  quietly 
taking  his  measure. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  week  he  paid  the  salary 
agreed  upon — fifteen  dollars. 

*'You  have  been  with  me  a  week,  Arthur,"  he 
said. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  I  have  been  making  up  my  mind  about 
you." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Dodger,  looking  up  inquiringly. 
"I  hope  you  are  satisfied  with  me?" 

"Yes,  I  think  I  may  say  that  I  am.  You  don't 
seem  to  be  afraid  of  work." 

"I  have  always  been  accustomed  to  work  " 

"That  is  well.  I  was  once  induced  to  take  the 
son  of  a  rich  man  in  the  place  you  now  occupy. 
He  had  never  done  a  stroke  of  work,  having  al- 
ways been  at  school.  He  didn't  take  kindly  to  work, 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  219 

and  seemed  afraid  that  he  would  be  called  upon  to 
do  more  than  he  had  bargained  for.  One  evening 
I  was  particularly  busy,  and  asked  him  to  remain 
an  hour  overtime. 

"  *It  will  be  very  inconvenient,  Mr.  Tucker/  said 
the  young  man,  'as  I  have  an  engagement  with  a 
friend.' 

"He  left  me  to  do  all  the  extra  work,  and — 
I  suppose  you  know  what  happened  the  next  Sat- 
urday evening?" 

"I  can  guess,"  returned  Dodger,  with  a  smile. 

"I  told  him  that  I  thought  the  duties  were  too 
heavy  for  his  constitution,  and  he  had  better  seek 
an  easier  place.  Let  me  see — I  kept  you  an  hour 
and  a  half  overtime  last  Wednesday." 

"Yes,   sir." 

"You  made  no  objection,  but  worked  on  just  as 
if  you  liked  it." 

"Yes,  sir;  I  am  always  willing  to  stay  when  you 
need  me." 

"Good!     I  shan't  forget  it." 

Dodger  felt  proud  of  his  success,  and  put  away 
the  fifteen  dollars  w^ith  a  feeling  of  satisfaction. 
He  had  never  saved  half  that  sum  in  the  same  time 
before. 

"Curtis  Waring  did  me  a  favor  when  he  sent 
me  out  here,"  he  reflected;  "but  as  he  didn't  mean 
it,  I  have  no  occasion  to  feel  grateful." 

Dodger  found  that  he  could  live  for  eight  dol- 
lars a  week,  and  he  began  to  lay  by  seven  dollars 


220  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

a  week  with  the  view  of  securing  funds  sufficient 
to  take  him  back  to  New  York. 

He  was  in  no  hurry  to  leave  San  Francisco,  but 
he  felt  that  Florence  might  need  a  friend.  But  he 
found  that  he  was  making  progress  slowly. 

At  that  time  the  price  of  a  first-class  ticket  to 
New  York  was  one  hundred  and  twenty-eight  dol- 
lars, besides  the  expense  of  sleeping  berths,  amount- 
ing then,  as  now,  to  twenty-two  dollars  extra.  So 
it  looked  as  if  Dodger  would  be  compelled  to  wait 
at  least  six  months  before  he  should  be  in  a  posi- 
tion to  set  out  on  the  return  journey. 

About  this  time  Dodger  received  a  letter  from 
Florence,  in  which  she  spoke  of  her  discharge  by 
Mrs.  Leighton. 

''I  shall  try  to  obtain  another  position  as  teacher," 
she  said,  concealing  her  anxiety.  "I  am  sure,  in 
a  large  city,  I  can  find  something  to  do." 

But  Dodger  knew  better  than  she  the  difficul- 
ties that  beset  the  path  of  an  applicant  for  work, 
and  he  could  not  help  feeling  anxious  for  Florence. 

"If  I  were  only  in  New  York,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, "I  would  see  that  Florence  didn't  suffer.  I 
will  write  her  to  let  me  know  if  she  is  in  need,  and 
I  will  send  her  some  money." 

About  this  time  he  met  with  an  adventure  which 
deserves  to  be  noted. 

It  was  about  seven  o'clock  one  evening  that  he 
found  himself  in  Mission  Street. 

At  a  street  corner  his  attention  was  drawn  to 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  22X 

a  woman  poorly  dressed,  who  held  by  the  hand  a 
child  of  three. 

Her  clothing  was  shabby,  and  her  attitude  was 
one  of  despondency.  It  was  clear  that  she  was  ill 
and  in  trouble. 

Dodger  possessed  quick  sympathies,  and  his  own 
experience  made  him  quick  to  understand  and  feel 
for  the  troubles  of  others. 

Though  the  woman  made  no  appeal,  he  felt  in- 
stinctively that  she  needed  help. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  with  as  much  defer- 
ence as  if  he  were  addressing  one  favored  by  for- 
tune, ''but  you  seem  to  be  in  need  of  help?" 

*'God  knows,  I  am!"  said  the  woman,  sadly. 

"Perhaps  I  can  be  of  service  to  you.  Will  you 
tell  me  how?" 

^'Neither  I  nor  my  child  has  tasted  food  since 
yesterday." 

"Well,  that  can  be  easily  remedied,"  said  Dod- 
ger, cheerfully.  "There  is  a  restaurant  close  by.  I 
was  about  to  eat  supper.  Will  you  come  in  with 
me?" 

"I  am  ashamed  to  impose  upon  the  kindness  of 
a  stranger,"  murmured  the  woman. 

"Don't  mention  it.  I  shall  be  very  glad  of  com- 
pany," said  Dodger,  heartily. 

"But  you  are  a  poor  boy.  You  may  be  ill  able 
to  afford  the  expense." 

"I  am  not  a  millionaire,"  said  Dodger,  "and  I 
don't  see  any  immediate  prospect  of  my  building 


222  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

a  palace  on  Nob  Hill" — where  live  some  of  San 
Francisco's  wealthiest  citizens — *'but  I  am  very  well 
supplied  with  money." 

''Then  I  will  accept  your  kind  invitation." 

It  was  a  small  restaurant,  but  neat  in  its  ap- 
pointments, and,  as  in  most  San  Francisco  restau- 
rants, the  prices  were  remarkably  moderate. 

At  an  expense  of  twenty-five  cents  each,  the  three 
obtained  a  satisfactory  meal. 

The  woman  and  child  both  seemed  to  enjoy  it, 
and  Dodger  was  glad  to  see  that  the  former  be- 
came more  cheerful  as  time  went  on. 

There  was  something  in  the  child's  face  that 
looked  familiar  to  Dodger.  It  was  a  resemblance 
to  some  one  that  he  had  seen,  but  he  could  not  for 
the  life  of  him  decide  who  it  was. 

^'How  can  I  ever  thank  you  for  your  kindness?" 
said  the  lady,  as  she  arose  from  the  table.  "You 
don't  know  what  it  is  to  be  famished " 

''Don't  I?"  asked  Dodger.  "I  have  been  hungry 
more  than  once,  without  money  enough  to  buy  a 
meal." 

"You  don't  look  it,"  she  said. 

"No,  for  now  I  have  a  good  place  and  am  earn- 
ing a  good  salary." 

"Are  you  a  native  of  San  Francisco?" 

"No,  madam.  I  can't  tell  you  where  I  was  born, 
for  I  know  little  or  nothing  of  my  family.  I  have 
only  been  here  a  short  time.  I  came  from  New 
York/' 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  223 

**So  did  I,'*  said  the  woman,  with  a  sigh.  '*'! 
wish  I  were  back  there  again." 

"How  came  you  to  be  here?  Don't  answer  if 
you  prefer  not  to,"  Dodger  added,  hastily. 

"I  have  no  objection.  My  husband  deserted  me, 
and  left  me  to  shift  for  myself  and  support  my 
child." 

*'How  have  you  done  it?" 

"By  taking  in  sewing.  But  that  Is  a  hard  way 
of  earning  money.  There  are  too  many  poor  women 
who  are  ready  to  work  for  starvation  wages,  and 
so  we  all  suffer." 

"I  know  that,"  answered  Dodger.  "Do  you  live 
near  here?" 

The  woman  mentioned  a  street  near  by. 

"I  have  one  poor  back  room  on  the  third  floor," 
she  explained;  "but  I  should  be  glad  if  I  were  sure 
to  stay  there." 

"Is  there  any  danger  of  your  being  ejected?" 

"I  am  owing  for  two  weeks*  rent,  and  this  is 
the  middle  of  the  third  week.  Unless  I  can  pay  up 
at  the  end  of  this  week  I  shall  be  forced  to  go  out 
into  the  streets  with  my  poor  child." 

"How  much  rent  do  you  pay?" 

"A  dollar  a  week." 

"Then  three  dollars  will  relieve  you  for  the  pres- 
ent?" 

"Yes;  but  it  might  as  well  be  three  hundred," 
said  the  woman,  bitterly. 

"Not  quite;  I  can  supply  you  with  three  dollars, 


224  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

but  three  hundred  would  be  rather  beyond  my 
means." 

"You  are  too  kind,  too  generous!  I  ought  not 
to  accept  such  a  liberal  gift." 

*'Mamma,  I  am  tired.  Take  me  up  in  your 
arms,"  said  the  child. 

"Poor  child!  He  has  been  on  his  feet  all  day," 
sighed  the  mother. 

She  tried  to  lift  the  child,  but  her  own  strength 
had  been  undermined  by  privation,  and  she  was 
clearly  unable  to  do  so. 

"Let  me  take  him!"  said  Dodger.  "Here,  lit- 
tle one,  jump  up !" 

He  raised  the  child  easily,  and  despite  the  moth- 
er's protest,  carried  him  in  his  arms. 

"I  will  see  you  home,  madam,"  he  said. 

"I  fear  the  child  will  be  too  heavy  for  you." 

"I  hope  not.  Why,  I  could  carry  a  child  twice 
as  heavy." 

They  reached  the  room  at  last — a  poor  one,  but 
a  welcome  repose  from  the  streets. 

"Don't  you  ever  expect  to  see  your  husband 
again?"  asked  Dodger.  "Can't  you  compel  him 
to  support  you?" 

"I  don't  know  where  he  is,"  answered  the  woman, 
despondently. 

"If  you  will  tell  me  his  name,  I  may  come  across 
him  some  day." 

"His  name,"  said  the  woman,  "is  Curtis  Waring." 

Dodger  stared  at  her,  overwhelmed  with  surprise. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  225 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

AN    IMPORTANT     DISCOVERY. 

"Curtis  Waring!"  ejaculated  Dodger,  his  face 
showing  intense  surprise.  "Is  that  the  name  of 
your  husband?" 

"Yes.  Is  it  possible  that  you  know  him?"  asked 
the  woman,  struck  by  Dodger's  tone. 

"I  know  a  man  by  that  name.  I  will  describe 
him,  and  you  can  tell  me  whether  it  is  he.  He  is 
rather  tall,  dark  hair,  sallow  complexion,  black  eyes, 
and  a  long,  thin  nose." 

"It  is  like  him  in  every  particular.  Oh,  tell  me 
where  he  is  to  be  found?" 

"He  lives  in  New  York.  He  is  the  nephew  of  a 
rich  man,  and  is  expecting  to  inherit  his  wealth. 
Through  his  influence  a  cousin  of  his,  a  young  lady, 
has  been  driven  from  home." 

"Was  he  afraid  she  would  deprive  him  of  the 
estate?" 

"That  was  partly  the  reason.  But  it  was  partly 
to  revenge  himself  on  her  because  she  would  not 
agree  to  marry  him." 

"But  how  could  he  marry  her,"  exclaimed  the 


226  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

unfortunate  woman,  "when  he  is  already  married 
to  me?" 

"Neither  she  nor  any  one  of  his  family  or  friends 
knew  that  he  was  already  married.  I  don't  think 
it  would  trouble  him  much." 

"But  it  must  be  stopped!"  she  exclaimed,  wildly. 
"He  is  my  husband.  I  shall  not  give  him  up  to 
any  one  else." 

"So  far  as  Florence  is  concerned — she  is  the 
cousin — she  has  no  wish  to  deprive  you  of  him. 
But  is  it  possible  that  you  are  attached  to  a  man 
who  has  treated  you  so  meanly?"  asked  Dodger, 
in  surprise. 

"There  was  a  time  when  he  treated  me  well,  when 
he  appeared  to  love  me,"  was  the  murmured  reply. 
"I  cannot  forget  that  he  is  the  father  of  my  child." 

Dodger  did  not  understand  the  nature  of  women 
or  the  mysteries  of  the  female  heart,  and  he  evi- 
dently thought  this  poor  woman  very  foolish  to 
cling  with  such  pertinacity  to  a  man  like  Curtis 
Waring. 

"Do  you  mind  telling  me  how  you  came  to  marry 
him?"  he  asked. 

"It  was  over  four  years  ago  that  I  met  him  in 
this  city,"  was  the  reply.  "I  am  a  San  Francisco 
girl.  I  had  rfiever  been  out  of  California.  I  was 
considered  pretty  then,"  she  added,  with  a  remnant 
of  pride,  "faded  as  I  am  to-day." 

Looking  closely  in  her  face,  Dodger  was  ready 
to  believe  this. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  227 

Grief  and  privation  had  changed  her  appearance, 
but  it  had  not  altogether  effaced  the  bloom  and 
beauty  of  youth. 

*'At  any  rate,  he  seemed  to  think  so.  He  was 
living  at  the  Palace  Hotel,  and  I  made  his  acquaint- 
ance at  a  small  social  gathering  at  the  house  of 
my  uncle.  I  am  an  orphan,  and  was  perhaps  the 
more  ready  to  marry  on  that  account." 

"Did  Mr.  Waring  represent  himself  as  wealthy?" 

"He  said  he  had  expectations  from  a  wealthy 
relative,  but  did  not  mention  where  he  lived." 

"He  told  the  truth,  then." 

"We  married,  securing  apartments  on  Kearney 
Street.  We  lived  together  till  my  child  was  born, 
and  for  three  months  afterward.  Then  Mr.  War- 
ing claimed  to  be  called  away  from  San  Francisco 
on  business.  He  said  he  might  be  absent  six  weeks. 
He  left  me  a  hundred  dollars,  and  urged  me  to  be 
careful  of  it,  as  he  was  short  of  money,  and  needed 
considerable  for  the  expenses  of  the  journey.  He 
left  me,  and  I  have  never  seen  or  heard  from  him 
since." 

"Did  he  tell  you  where  he  was  going,  Mrs.  War- 
ing?" 

"No;  he  said  he  would  be  obliged  to  visit  several 
places — among  others,  Colorado,  where  he  claimed 
to  have  some  mining  property.  He  told  me  that 
he  hoped  to  bring  back  considerable  money." 

"Do  you  think  he  meant  to  stay  away  alto- 
gether?" 


228  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  think.  Well,  I  lived  on 
patiently,  for  I  had  perfect  confidence  in  my  hus- 
band. I  made  the  money  last  me  ten  weeks  instead 
of  six,  but  then  I  found  myself  penniless." 

"Did  you  receive  any  letters  in  that  time?" 

*'No,  and  it  was  that  that  worried  me.  When 
at  last  the  mbney  gave  out,  I  began  to  pawn  my 
things — more  than  once  I  was  tempted  to  pawn  my 
wedding-ring,  but  I  could  not  bring  my  mind  to  do 
that.  I  do  not  like  to  think  ill  of  my  husband, 
and  was  forced,  as  the  only  alternative,  to  conclude 
that  he  had  met  with  some  accident,  perhaps  had 
died.  I  have  not  felt  certain  that  this  was  not  so 
till  you  told  me  this  evening  that  you  know  him." 

"I  can  hardly  say  that  I  know  him  well,  yet  I 
know  him  a  good  deal  better  than  I  wish  I  did. 
But  for  him  I  would  not  now  be  in  San  Francisco." 

"How  is  that?     Please  explain." 

Dodger  told  her  briefly  the  story  of  his  abduc- 
tion. 

"But  what  motive  could  he  have  in  getting  you 
out  of  New  York?     I  cannot  understand." 

"I  don't  understand  myself,  except  that  I  am  the 
friend  of  Florence." 

"His  cousin?" 

"Yes." 

"But  why  should  she  be  compelled  to  leave  her 
uncle's  home?" 

"Because  Curtis  Waring  made  him  set  his  heart 
\ipon  the  match.     She  had  her  choice  to  marry  Cur- 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  229 

tis  or  to  leave  the  house,  and  forfeit  all  chance  of 
the  estate.     She  chose  to  leave  the  house." 

"She  ought  to  know  that  he  has  no  right  to 
marry,"  said  the  poor  woman,  who,  not  understand- 
ing the  dislike  of  Florence  for  the  man  whom  she 
herself  loved,  feared  that  she  might  yet  be  induced 
to  marry  him. 

"She  ought  to  know,  and  her  uncle  ought  to 
know,"  said  Dodger.  "Mrs.  Waring,  I  can't  see 
my  way  clear  yet.  If  I  were  in  New  York  I  would 
know  just  what  to  do.  Will  you  agree  to  stand  by 
me,  and  help  me?" 

"Yes,  I  will,"  answered  the  woman,  earnestly. 

"I  will  see  you  again  to-morrow  evening.  Here 
is  some  money  to  help  you  along  for  the  present„ 
Good-night." 

Dodger,  as  he  walked  away,  pondered  over  the 
remarkable  discovery  he  had  made. 

It  was  likely  to  prove  of  the  utmost  importance 
to  Florence. 

Her  uncle's  displeasure  was  wholly  based  upon 
her  refusal  to  marry  Curtis  Waring,  but  if  it  should 
be  proved  to  him  that  Curtis  was  already  a  mar- 
ried man,  there  would  seem  no  bar  to  reconcilia- 
tion. 

Moreover — and  thas  was  particularly  satisfactory 
— it  would  bring  Curtis  himself  into  disfavor. 

Florence  would  be  reinstated  in  her  rightful  place 
in  her  uncle's  family,  and  once  more  be  recognized 
as  heiress  to  at  least  a  portion  of  his  large  fortune. 


230  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

This  last  consideration  might  not  weigh  so  much 
with  Florence,  but  Dodger  was  more  practical,  and 
he  wished  to  restore  her  to  the  social  position  which 
she  had  lost  through  the  knavery  of  her  cousin. 

But  in  San  Francisco — at  a  distance  of  over  three 
thousand  miles — Dodger  felt  at  a  loss  how  to  act. 

Even  if  Mr.  Linden  was  informed  that  his  nephew 
had  a  wife  living  in  San  Francisco,  the  statement 
would  no  doubt  be  denied  by  Curtis,  who  would 
brand  the  woman  as  an  impudent  adventuress. 

'The.  absent  are  always  in  the  wrong,"  says  a 
French  proverb. 

At  all  events,  they  are  very  much  at  a  disadvan- 
tage, and  therefore  it  seemed  imperatively  neces- 
sary, not  only  that  Dodger,  but  that  Curtis  War- 
ing's  wife  should  go  to  New  York  to  confront  the 
unprincipled  man  whose  schemes  had  brought  sor- 
row to  so  many. 

It  was  easy  to  decide  what  plan  was  best,  but 
how  to  carry  it  out  presented  a  difficulty  which 
seemed  insurmountable. 

The  expenses  of  a  journey  to  New  York  for  Dod- 
ger, Mrs.  Waring  and  her  child  would  not  be  very 
tar  from  five  hundred  dollars,  and  where  to  obtain 
this  money  was  a  problem. 

Randolph  Leslie  probably  had  that  sum,  but  Dod- 
ger could  not  in  conscience  ask  him  to  lend  it,  be- 
ing unable  to  furnish  adequate  security,  or  to  in- 
sure repayment. 

"If  I  could  only  find  a  nugget,"  thought  Dod- 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  231 

ger,  knitting  his  brows,  ''everything  would  be  easy."' 

But  nuggets  are  rare  enough  in  the  gold  fields, 
and  still  rarer  in  city  streets. 

He  who  trusts  wholly  to  luck  trusts  to  a  will-o'- 
the-wisp,  and  is  about  as  sure  of  success  as  one  who 
owns  a  castle  in  Spain. 

The  time  might  come  when  Dodger,  by  his  own 
efforts,  could  accumulate  the  needed  sum,  but  it 
would  require  a  year  at  least,  and  in  that  time  Mr. 
Linden  would  probably  be  dead. 

Absorbed  and  disturbed  by  these  reflections,  Dod- 
ger walked  slowly  through  the  darkened  streets  till 
he  heard  a  stifled  cry,  and  looking  up,  beheld  a  sight 
that  startled  him. 

On  the  sidewalk  lay  the  prostrate  figure  of  a  man. 
Over  him,  bludgeon  in  hand,  bent  a  rufiian,  whose 
purpose  was  only  too  clearly  evident. 


532  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

JUST  IN  TIME. 

Dodger,  who  was  a  strong,  stout  boy,  gathered 
himself  up  and  dashed  against  the  ruffian  with  such 
impetuosity  that  he  fell  over  his  intended  victim, 
and  his  bludgeon  fell  from  his  hand. 

It  was  the  work  of  an  instant  to  lift  it,  and  raise 
it  in  a  menacing  position. 

The  discomfited  villain  broke  into  a  volley  of 
oaths,  and  proceeded  to  pick  himself  up. 

He  was  a  brutal-looking  fellow,  but  was  no  larger 
than  Dodger,  who  was  as  tall  as  the  majority  of 
men. 

"Give  me  that  stick,"  he  exclaimed,  furiously. 

*'Come  and  take  it,"  returned  Dodger,  undaunted. 

The  fellow  took  him  at  his  word,  and  made  a 
rush  at  our  hero,  but  a  vigorous  blow  from  the  blud- 
geon made  him  cautious  about  repeating  the  at- 
tack. 

"Curse  you!"  he  cried,  between  his  teeth.  "I'd 
like  to  chaw  you  up." 

"I  have  no  doubt  you  would,"  answered  Dod- 
ger; "but  I  don't  think  you  will.  Were  you  going 
to  rob  this  man?" 

"None  of  your  business!" 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  233 

**I  shall  make  it  my  business.  You'd  better  'go,. 
or  you  may  be  locked  up." 

"Give  me  that  stick,  then." 

''You'll  have  to  do  without  it." 

He  made  another  rush,  and  Dodger  struck  him 
such  a  blow  on  his  arm  that  he  winced  with  pain. 

"Now  I  shall  summon  the  police,  and  you  can 
do  as  you  please  about  going." 

Dodger  struck  the  stick  sharply  on  the  sidewalk 
three  times,  and  the  ruffian,  apprehensive  of  arrest, 
ran  around  the  corner  just  in  time  to  rush  into  the 
arms  of  a  policeman. 

"What  has  this  man  been  doing?"  asked  the  city 
guardian,  turning  to  Dodger. 

"He  was  about  to  rob  this  man." 

"Is  the  man  hurt?" 

"Where  am  I?"  asked  the  prostrate  man,  in  a 
bewildered  tone. 

"I  will  take  care  of  him,  if  you  will  take  charge 
of  that  fellow." 

"Can  you  get  up,  sir?"  asked  Dodger,  bending 
over  the  fallen  man. 

The  latter  answered  by  struggling  to  his  feet  and 
looking  about  him  in  a  confused  way. 

"Where  am  I?"  he  asked.  "What  has  hap- 
pened ?" 

"You  were  attacked  by  a  ruffian.  I  found  you 
on  the  sidewalk,  with  him  bending  over  you  with 
this  club  in  his  hand." 

"He  must  have  followed  me.     I  was  imprudent 


234  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

enough  to  show  a  well-filled  pocketbook  in  a  sa- 
loon where  I  stopped  to  take  a  drink.  No  doubt 
he  planned  to  relieve  me  of  it." 

"You  have  had  a  narrow  escape,  sir." 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  it.  I  presume  the  fellow  was 
ready  to  take  my  life,  if  he  found  it  necessary." 

"1  will  leave  you  now,  sir,  if  you  think  you  can 
manage." 

"No,  stay  with  me.     I  feel  rather  upset." 

"Where  are  you  staying,  sir?" 

"At  the  Palace  Hotel.  Of  course  you  know 
where  that  is?" 

"Certainly.     Will  you  take  my  arm?" 

"Thank  you." 

Little  was  said  till  they  found  themselves  in  the 
sumptuous  hotel,  which  hardly  has  an  equal  in 
America. 

"Come  to  my  room,  young  man;  I  want  to  speak 
to  you." 

It  was  still  early  in  the  evening,  and  Dodger's 
time  was  his  own. 

He  had  no  hesitation,  therefore,  in  accepting  the 
stranger's  invitation. 

On  the  third  floor  the  stranger  produced  a  key 
and  opened  the  door  of  a  large,  handsomely-fur- 
nished room. 

"If  you  have  a  match,  please  light  the  gas." 

Dodger  proceeded  to  do  so,  and  now,  for  the 
first  time,  obtained  a  good  view  of  the  man  he  had 
rescued.  He  was  a  man  of  about  the  average  height, 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  235 

probably  not  far  from  fifty,  dressed  in  a  neat  busi- 
ness suit,  and  looked  like  a  substantial  merchant. 

"Please  be  seated." 

Dodger  sat  down  in  an  easy-chair  conveniently 
near  him. 

''Young  man,"  said  the  stranger,  impressively, 
"you  have  done  me  a  great  favor." 

Dodger  felt  that  this  was  true,  and  did  not  dis- 
claim it. 

"I  am  very  glad  I  came  up  just  as  I  did,"  he 
said. 

"How  large  a  sum  of  money  do  you  think  I  had 
about  me?"  asked  his  companion. 

"Five  hundred  dollars?" 

"Five  hundred  dollars!  Why,  that  would  be  a 
mere  trifle." 

"It  wouldn't  be  a  trifle  to  me,  sir,"  said  Dodger. 

"Are  you  poor?"  asked  the  man,  earnestly. 

"I  have  a  good  situation  that  pays  me  fifteen  dol- 
lars a  week,  so  I  ought  not  to  consider  myself  poor." 

"Suppose  you  had  a  considerable  sum  of  money 
given  you,  what  would  you  do  with  it?" 

"If  I  had  five  hundred  dollars,  I  should  be  able 
to  defeat  the  schemes  of  a  villain,  and  restore  a 
young  lady  to  her  rights." 

"That  seems  interesting.  Tell  me  the  circum- 
stances." 

Dodger  told  the  story  as  briefly  as  he  could.  He 
was  encouraged  to  find  that  the  stranger  listened  to 
him  with  attention. 


236  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

*'D:  y:u  know."  ht  ri;^    rt-.e-:t:ve'v.    "yiu  have 

done  f:r  rr.e  what  I   :;:cc  -i.i   ::'  ?-r::htr — a  rich 

inan?     The  caie  was  very  5  r     ;:       I      as  a  p:cr 

fc:  t  tiine.     Dc  ^        .  :tn:e?" 

■  .V::^  was  it,  s::" 

"A  doDar!  W  ..-.  i:  y-  :--:  :f  :-:  f:r  ge- 
crcsitT?" 

"W'ell,  sir,  it  wasn't  ez^2.r.\y  hterah  Did  you  ac- 
cept itr' 

"77:.  I  t:!(i  him  that  I  didn't  wish  to  incon- 
vt  I       I     i  :ed  you  how  much  money 

y:  sed  I  r.^i.     I  will  tell  you.     In  a  wal- 

T  r  eleve-   :h       '-'    ic^ars  in  bank  notes 

r    _     : .    flies.'' 

"Tha:  is  a  rer,  dazzled  at  the 

-  picHLy  more,  oui  vi-  ■"'. 
s^  life.     Through  ; 

t  escaped  without  loss.     I 

f  the  service  you 

,-..  -„-      -—  L..  .     :f  it,  please  accept 

::   "  :^  :  h  v  :rl  ;  anded  them 


\;ii-  " 


:■'---         '-    '-^'^  -^:.:-  ..-hy,  started 
::r  fi^e  hundred  dol- 
lars, 

''You  have  given  -e  c  thv-^-^    ^::k-!"    h= 
gasped 

"I  am  aware  of  it     I  consider  my  life  worth  that. 


ADRIFT  L\  NEW  YORK.  237 

at   least.      James   Swinton  never   fails  to   pay   his 
debts." 

''But,  sir,  a  thousand  dollars 

''It's  no  more  than  you  deserve.  \Mien  I  tell 
my  wife,  on  my  return  to  Chicago,  about  this  af- 
fair, she  will  blame  me  for  not  giving  you  more.'' 

"You  seem  to  belong  to  a  liberal  family,  sir." 

"I  detest  meanness,  and  would  rather  err  on  the 
side  of  liberality.  Now,  if  agreeable  to  you,  I  will 
order  a  bottle  of  champagne,  and  solace  ourselves 
for  this  little  incident."" 

"Thank  you,  ^Mr.  Swinton,  but  I  have  made  up 
my  mind  not  to  drink  anything  stronger  than  wa- 
ter. I  have  tended  bar  in  Xew  York,  and  what  I 
have  seen  has  given  me  a  dislike  for  liquor  of  any 
kind." 

"You  are  a  sensible  young  man.  You  are  right, 
and  I  won't  urge  you.  There  is  my  card,  and  if 
you  ever  come  to  Chicago,  call  upon  me." 

"I  will,  sir." 

When  Dodger  left  the  Palace  Hotel  he  felt  that 
he  was  a  favorite  of  fortune. 

It  is  not  always  that  the  money  we  need  is  so 
quickly  supplied. 

He  resolved  to  return  to  Xew  York  as  soon  as 
he  could  manage  it,  and  take  with  him  the  wife  and 
child  of  Curtis  \\'aring. 

This  would  cost  him  about  five  hundred  dollars, 
and  he  would  have  the  same  amount  left. 

^Ir.  Tucker  was  reluctant  to  part  with  Dodger. 


238  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"You  are  the  best  assistant  I  ever  had,"  he  said. 
"I  will  pay  you  twenty  dollars  a  week,  if  that  will 
induce  you  to  stay." 

"I  would  stay  if  it  were  not  very  important  for 
me  to  return  to  New  York,  Mr.  Tucker.  I  do  not 
expect  to  get  a  place  in  New  York  as  good." 

"If  you  come  back  to  San  Francisco  at  any  time, 
I  will  make  a  place  for  you." 

"Thank  you,  sir." 

Mrs.  Waring  was  overjoyed  when  Dodger  called 
upon  her  and  offered  to  take  her  back  to  New  York. 

"I  shall  see  Curtis  again,"  she  said.  "How  can 
I  ever  thank  you  ?" 

But  Dodger,  though  unwilling  to  disturb  her 
dreams  of  happiness,  thought  it  exceedingly  doubt- 
ful if  her  husband  would  be  equally  glad  to  see  her. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  239 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE      DARKEST      DAY. 

When  Florence  left  the  employ  of  Mrs.  Leigh- 
ton  she  had  a  few  dollars  as  a  reserve  fund.  As  this 
would  not  last  long,  she  at  once  made  an  effort  to 
obtain  employment. 

She  desired  another  position  as  governess,  and 
made  application  in  answer  to  an  advertisement. 

Her  ladylike  manner  evidently  impressed  the  lady 
to  whom  she  applied. 

"I  suppose  you  have  taught  before?"  she  said. 

**Yes,  madam." 

"In  whose  family?" 

"I  taught  the  daughter  of  Mrs.  Leighton,  of 
West Street." 

*'l  have  heard  of  the  lady.  Of  course  you  are 
at  liberty  to  refer  to  her?" 

**Yes,  madam,"  but  there  was  a  hesitation  in  her 
tone  that  excited  suspicion. 

''Very  well;  I  will  call  upon  her  and  make  in- 
quiries. If  you  will  call  to-morrow  morning,  I 
can  give  you  a  decisive  answer." 

Florence  fervently  hoped  that  this  might  prove 
favorable ;  but  was  apprehensive,  and  with  good  rea- 
son, it  appeared. 


240  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

When  she  presented  herself  the  next  day,  Mrs. 
Cole  said: 

*'I  am  afraid,  Miss  Linden,  you  will  not  suit 
me. 

*'May  I  ask  why?"  Florence  inquired,  schooling 
herself  to  calmness. 

*'I  called  on  Mrs.  Leighton,"  was  the  answer. 
*'She  speaks  well  of  you  as  a  teacher,  but — she  told 
me  some  things  which  make  it  seem  inexpedient 
to  engage  you." 

"What  did  she  say  of  me?" 

"That,  perhaps,  you  had  better  not  inquire." 

"I  prefer  to  know  the  worst." 

"She  said  you  encouraged  the  attentions  of  her 
nephew,  forgetting  the  difference  in  social  position, 
and  also  that  your  connections  were  not  of  a  sort 
to  recommend  you.  I  admit.  Miss  Linden,  that 
you  are  very  ladylike  in  appearance,  but,  I  can 
hardly  be  expected  to  admit  into  my  house,  in  the 
important  position  of  governess  to  my  child,  the 
daughter  or  niece  of  an  apple-woman." 

"Did  Mrs.  Leighton  say  that  I  was  related  to 
an  apple-woman?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Linden.     I  own  I  was  surprised." 

"It  is  not  true,  Mrs.  Cole." 

"You  live  in  the  house  of  such  a  person,  do  you 
not?" 

"Yes,  she  Is  an  humble  friend  of  mine,  and  has 
been  kind  to  me." 

"You  cannot  be  very  fastidious.     However,  that 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  241 

is  your  own  affair.  I  am  sorry  to  disappoint  you, 
Miss  Linden,  but  it  will  be  quite  impossible  for  me 
to  employ  you." 

*Then  I  will  bid  you  good-morning,  Mrs.  Cole,** 
said  Florence,  sore  at  heart. 

''Good-morning.  Y»ou  will,  I  think,  understand 
my  position.  If  you  applied  for  a  position  in  one 
of  the  public  schools,  I  don't  think  that  your  resi- 
dence w^ould  be  an  objection." 

Florence  left  the  house,  sad  and  despondent.  She 
sav/  that  Mrs.  Leighton,  by  her  unfriendly  repre- 
sentations, would  prevent  her  from  getting  any  op- 
portunity to  teach.  She  must  seek  some  more  hum- 
ble employment. 

"Well,  Florence,  did  you  get  a  place?"  asked 
Mrs.  O'Keefe,  as  she  passed  that  lady's  stand. 

"No,  Mrs.  O'Keefe,"  answered  Florence,  wearily. 

"And  why  not?  Did  the  woman  think  you  didn't 
know  enough?" 

"She  objected  to  me  because  I  was  not  living 
in  a  fashionable  quarter — at  least  that  was  one  of 
her  objections." 

"I'm  sure  you've  got  a  nate,  clane  home,  and  it 
looks  as  nate  as  wax  all  the  time." 

"It  isn't  exactly  stylish,"  said  Florence,  with  a 
faint  smile. 

"You  are,  at  any  rate.  What  does  the  woman 
want,  I'd  like  to  know  ?" 

"She  doesn't  want  me.  It  seems  Mrs.  Leighton 
did  not  speak  very  highly  .of  me." 


242  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"The  trollop!  I'd  like  to  give  her  a  box  on  the 
ear,  drat  her  impudence!"  said  the  irate  apple- 
woman.     "And  what  will  you  be  doin'  now  ?" 

"Do  you  think  I  can  get  some  sewing  to  do,  Mrs. 
O'Keefe?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Florence — I'll  get  you  some  vests  to 
make;  but  it's  hard  work  and  poor  pay." 

"I  must  take  what  I  can  get,"  sighed  Florence. 
"I  cannot  choose." 

"If  you'd  only  tend  an  apple-stand,  Miss  Flor- 
ence! There's  Mrs.  Brady  wants  to  sell  out  on  ac- 
count of  the  rheumatics,  and  I've  got  a  trifle  in 
the  savings  bank — enough  to  buy  it.  You'd  make 
a  dollar  a  day,  easy." 

"It  isn't  to  be  thought  of,  Mrs.  O'Keefe.  If  you 
will  kindly  see  about  getting  me  some  sewing,  I 
will  see  how  I  can  get  along." 

The  result  was  that  Mrs.  O'Keefe  brought  Flor- 
ence in  the  course  of  the  day  half  a  dozen  vests, 
for  which  she  was  to  be  paid  the  munificent  sum 
of  twenty-five  cents  each. 

Florence  had  very  little  idea  of  what  she  was  un- 
dertaking. 

'She  was  an  expert  needlewoman,  and  proved  ade- 
quate to  the  work,  but  with  her  utmust  industry  she 
could  only  make  one  vest  in  a  day,  and  that  would 
barely  pay  her  rent. 

True,  she  had  some  money  laid  aside  on  which 
she  could  draw,  but  that  would  soon  be  expended, 
and  then  what  was  to  become  of  her? 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  243 

**Shure,  I  won't  let  you  starve,  Florence,"  said 
the  warm-hearted  apple-woman. 

"But,  Mrs.  O'Keefe,  I  can't  consent  to  live  on 
you." 

"And  why  not?  I'm  well  and  strong,  and  I'm 
makin'  more  money  than  I  nade." 

"I  couldn't  think  of  it,  though  I  thank  you  for 
your  kindness." 

"Shure,  you  might  write  a  letter  to  your  uncle, 
Florence." 

"He  would  expect  me,  in  that  case,  to  consent 
to  a  marriage  with  Curtis.  You  wouldn't  advise 
me  to  do  that?" 

"No;  he's  a  mane  blackguard,  and  I'd  say  it  to 
his  face." 

Weeks  rolled  by,  and  Florence  began  to  show  the 
effects  of  hard  work  and  confinement. 

She  grew  pale  and  thin,  and  her  face  was  habit- 
ually sad. 

She  had  husbanded  her  savings  as  a  governess 
as  closely  as  she  could,  but  in  spite  of  all  her  econ- 
omy it  dwindled  till  she  had  none  left. 

Henceforth,  she  must  depend  on  twenty-five  cents 
a  day,  and  this  seemed  well-nigh  impossible. 

In  this  emergency  the  pawnbroker  occurred  to 
her. 

She  had  a  variety  of  nice  dresses,  and  she  had 
also  a  handsome  ring,  given  her  by  her  uncle  on 
her  last  birthday. 

This  she  felt  sure  must  have  cost  fifty  dollars. 


244  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

It  was  a  trial  to  part  with  it,  but  there  seemed  to 
be  no  alternative. 

*'If  my  uncle  has  withdrawn  his  affection  from 
me,"  she  said  to  herself,  "why  should  I  scruple  to 
pawn  the  ring?  It  is  the  symbol  of  a  love  that  no 
longer  exists." 

So  she  entered  the  pawnbrowker's — the  first  that 
attracted  her  attention — and  held  out  the  ring. 

"How  much  will  you  lend  me  on  this?"  she  asked, 
half  frightened  at  finding  herself  in  such  a  place. 

The  pawnbroker  examined  it  carefully.  His 
practiced  eye  at  once  detected  its  value,  but  it  was 
not  professional  to  admit  this. 

"Rings  is  a  drug  in  the  market,  young  lady,"  he 
said.  "I've  got  more  than  I  knov/  what  to  do  with. 
I'll  give  you  four — four  dollars." 

"Four  dollars!"  repeated  Florence,  in  dismay. 
"Why,  it  must  have  cost  fifty.  It  was  bought  in 
Tiffany's." 

"You  are  mistaken,  my  dear.  Did  you  buy  it 
yourself  there?" 

"No,  my  uncle  gave  it  to  me." 

"He  may  have  said  he  paid  fifty  dollars  for  it," 
said  the  pawnbroker,  wagging  his  head,  "but  we 
know  better." 

"But  what  will  you  give?"  asked  Florence,  des- 
perately. 

"I'll  give  you  five  dollars,  and  not  a  penny  more," 
said  the  broker,  surveying  her  distressed  face, 
shrewdly.     "You  can  take  it  or  not." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  245 

What  could  Florence  do? 

She  must  have  money,  and  feared  that  no  other 
pawnbroker  would  give  her  more. 

"Make  out  the  ticket,  then/'  she  said,  wearily, 
with  a  sigh. 

This  was  done,  and  she  left  the  place,  half  timid, 
half  ashamed,  and  wholly  discouraged. 

But  the  darkest  hour  is  sometimes  nearest  the 
dawn.  A  great  overwhelming  surprise  awaited 
her.  She  had  scarcely  left  the  shop  when  a  glad 
voice  cried : 

"I  have  found  you  at  last,  Florence  T^ 

She  looked  up  and  saw — Dodger. 

But  not  the  old  Dodger.  She  saw  a  nicely  dressed 
young  gentleman,  larger  than  the  friend  she  had 
parted  with  six  months  before,  with  a  brighter, 
more  intelligent,  and  manly  look. 

'"Dodger!"  she  faltered. 

*'Yes,  it  is  Dodger." 

"Where  did  you  come  from?" 

"From  San  Francisco.  But  what  have  you  been 
doing  there?" 

And  Dodger  pointed  in  the  direction  of  the  pawn- 
broker's shop. 

"I  pawned  my  ring." 

"Then  I  shall  get  it  back  at  once.  How  much 
did  you  get  on  it?" 

"Five  dollars." 

"Give  me  the  ticket,  and  go  in  with  me." 

The  pawnbroker  was  very  reluctant  to  part  with 


246  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

the  ring,   which   he  made  sure  would  not  be  re- 
claimed; but  there  was  no  help  for  it. 

As  they  emerged  into  the  street,  Dodger  said: 
**rve  come  back  to  restore  you  to  your  rights, 
and  give  Curtis  Waring  the  most  disagreeable  sur- 
prise he  ever  had.  Come  home,  and  I'll  tell  you 
all  about  it.  I've  struck  luck,  Florence,  and  you're 
going  to  share  it." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  247 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

MRS.    o'kEEFE   in    a    new    ROLE. 

No  time  was  lost  in  seeing  Bolton  and  arrang- 
ing a  plan  of  campaign. 

Curtis  Waring,  nearing  the  accomplishment  of 
his  plans,  was  far  from  anticipating  impending  dis- 
aster. 

His  uncle's  health  had  become  so  poor,  and  his 
strength  had  been  so  far  undermined,  that  it  was 
thought  desirable  to  employ  a  sick  nurse.  An  ad- 
vertisement was  inserted  in  a  morning  paper,  which 
luckily  attracted  the  attention  of  Bolton. 

"You  must  go,  Mrs.  O'Keefe,"  he  said  to  the 
apple- woman.  ''It  is  important  that  we  have  some 
one  in  the  house — some  friend  of  Florence  and  the 
boy — to  watch  what  is  going  on." 

"Bridget  O'Keefe  is  no  fool.  Leave  her  to  man- 
age." 

The  result  was  that  among  a  large  number  of 
applicants  Mrs.  O'Keefe  was  selected  by  Curtis  as 
Mr.  Linden's  nurse,  as  she  expressed  herself  will- 
ing to  work  for  four  dollars  a  week,  while  the  low- 
est outside  demand  was  seven. 

We  will  now  enter  the  house,  in  which  the  last 
scenes  of  our  story  are  to  take  place. 


248  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

Mr.  Linden,  weak  and  emaciated,  was  sitting  in 
an  easy-chair  in  his  Hbrary. 

^TIow  do  you  feel  this  morning,  uncle?"  asked 
Curtis,  entering  the  room. 

''I  am  very  weak,  Curtis.  I  don't  think  I  shall 
ever  be  any  better." 

"I  have  engaged  a  nurse,  uncle,  as  you  desired, 
and  I  expect  her  this  morning." 

"That  is  w^eli,  Curtis.  I  do  not  wish  to  confine 
you  to  my  bedside." 

"The  nurse  is  below,"  said  Jane,  the  servant,  en- 
tering. 

"Send  her  up." 

Mrs.  O'Keefe  entered  in  the  sober  attire  of  a 
nurse.     She  dropped  a  curtsey. 

"Are  you  the  nurse  I  engaged?"  said  Curtis. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Your  name,  please." 

"Mrs.  Barnes,  sir." 

"Have  you  experience  as  a  nurse?" 

"Plenty,   sir." 

"Uncle,  this  is  Mrs.  Barnes,  your  new  nurse.  I 
hope  you  will  find  her  satisfactory." 

"She  looks  like  a  good  woman,"  said  Mr.  Lin 
den,  feebly.     "I  think  she  will  suit  me." 

"Indade,  sir,  I'll  try." 

"Uncle,"  said  Curtis,  "I  have  to  go  downtown. 
I  have  some  business  to  attend  to.  I  leave  you 
in  the  care  of  Mrs.  Barnes." 

"Shure,  I'll  take  care  of  him,  sir." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  249 

*'Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  Mr.  Lin- 
den?" asked  the  new  nurse,  in  a  tone  of  sympathy. 

''Can  you  minister  to  a  mind  diseased?" 

"I'll  take  the  best  care  of  you,  Mr.  Linden,  but 
it  isn't  as  if  you  had  a  wife  or  daughter." 

''Ah,  that  is  a  sore  thought!  I  have  no  wife  or 
daughter;  but  I  have  a  niece." 

"And  where  is  she,  sir?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  drove  her  from  me  by  my 
unkindness.  I  repent  bitterly,  but  it's  now  too 
late." 

"And  why  don't  you  send  for  her  to  come 
home?" 

"I  would  gladly  do  so,  but  I  don't  know  where 
she  is.  Curtis  has  tried  to  find  her,  but  in  vain. 
He  says  she  is  in  Chicago." 

"And  what  should  take  her  to  Chicago?" 

"He  says  she  is  there  as  a  governess  in  a  family." 

"By  the  brow  of  St.  Patrick!"  thought  Mrs. 
O'Keefe,  "if  that  Curtis  isn't  a  natural-born  liar. 
I'm  sure  she'd  come  back  if  you'd  send  for  her, 
sir,"  said  she,  aloud. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  asked  Linden,  eagerly. 

"Fm  sure  of  it." 

"But  I  don't  know  where  to  send." 

"I  know  of  a  party  that  would  be  sure  to  find 
her." 

"Who  is  it?" 

"It's  a  young  man.  They  call  him  Dodger.  If 
any  one  can  find  Miss  Florence,  he  can." 


250  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"You  know  my  niece's  name?" 

"I  have  heard  it  somewhere.  From  Mr.  Waring, 
I  think." 

"And  you  think  this  young  man  would  agree  to 
go  to  Chicago  and  find  her?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  make  bold  to  say  he  will." 

"Tell  him  to  go  at  once.  He  will  need  money. 
In  yonder  desk  you  will  find  a  picture  of  my  niece 
and  a  roll  of  bills.  Give  them  to  him  and  send 
him  at  once." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  will.  But  if  you'll  take  my  advice, 
you  won't  say  anything  to  Mr.  Curtis.  He  might 
think  it  foolish." 

"True!  If  your  friend  succeeds,  we'll  give  Cur- 
tis a  surprise." 

"And  a  mighty  disagreeable  one,  I'll  be  bound," 
soliloquized  Mrs.  O'Keefe. 

"I  think,  Mrs.  Barnes,  I  will  retire  to  my  cham- 
ber, if  you  will  assist  me." 

She  assisted  Mr.  Linden  to  his  room,  and  then 
returned  to  the  library. 

"Mrs.  Barnes,  there's  a  young  man  inquiring  for 
you,"  said  Jane,  entering. 

"Send  him  in,  Jane." 

The  visitor  was  Dodger,  neatly  dressed. 

"How  are  things  going,  Mrs.  O'Keefe?"  he 
asked. 

"Splendid,  Dodger.  Here's  some  money  for 
you.'^ 

"What  for?" 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  251 

''You're  to  go  to  Chicago  and  bring  back  Flor- 
ence/" 

''But  she  isn't  there." 

"Nivir  mind.     You're  to  pretend  to  go." 

"But  that  won't  take  money." 

"Give  it  to  Florence,  then.  It's  hers  by  rights. 
Won't  we  give  Curtis  a  surprise?  Where's  his 
wife?" 

"I  have  found  a  comfortable  boarding  house  for 
her.  When  had  we  better  carry  out  this  pro- 
gramme?    She's  very  anxious  to  see  her  husband." 

"The  more  fool  she.  Kape  her  at  home  and  out 
of  his  sight,  or  there's  no  knowin'  what  he'll  do. 
And,  Dodger,  dear,  kape  an  eye  on  the  apple- 
stand.     I  mistrust  Mrs.  Burke  that's  runnin'  it." 

"I  will.  Does  the  old  gentleman  seem  to  be  very 
sick?" 

"He's  wake  as  a  rat.  Curtis  would  kill  him  soon 
if  we  didn't  interfere.  But  we'll  soon  circumvent 
him,  the  snake  in  the  grass!  Miss  Florence  will 
soon  come  to  her  own,  and  Curtis  Waring  will  be 
out  in  the  cold." 

"The  most  I  have  against  him  is  that  he  tried  to 
marry  Florence  when  he  had  a  wife  already." 

"He's  as  bad  as  they  make  'em.  Dodger.  It  won't 
be  my  fault  if  Mr.  Linden's  eyes  are  not  opened  to 
his  wickedness." 


252  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

THE  DIPLOMACY   OF   MRS.    o'kEEFE. 

Mrs.  O'Keefe  was  a  warm-hearted  woman,  and 
the  sad,  drawn  face  of  Mr.  Linden  appealed  to  her 
pity. 

*'Why  should  I  let  the  poor  man  suffer  when  I 
can  relieve  him?"  she  asked  herself. 

So  the  next  morning,  after  Curtis  had,  accord- 
ing to  his  custom,  gone  downtown,  being  in  the 
invalid's  sick  chamber,  she  began  to  act  in  a  mys- 
terious manner.  She  tiptoed  to  the  door,  closed 
it  and  approached  Mr.  Linden's  bedside  with  the 
air  of  one  about  to  unfold  a  strange  story. 

"Whist  now,"  she  said,  with  her  finger  on  her 
lips. 

''What  is  the  matter?"  asked  the  invalid,  rather 
alarmed. 

''Can  you  bear  a  surprise,  sir?" 

"Have  you  any  bad  news  for  me?" 

"No;  it's  good  news,  but  you  must  promise  not 
to  tell  Curtis." 

"Is  it  about  Florence?  Your  messenger  can 
hardly  have  reached  Chicago." 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  253 

"He  isn't  going  there,  sir.'^ 

"But  you  promised  that  he  should,"  said  Mr. 
Linden,  disturbed. 

"I'll  tell  you  why,  sir.  Florence  is  not  in  Chi- 
cago." 

"I — I  don't  understand.  You  said  she  was 
there." 

"Begging  your  pardon,  sir,  it  was  Curtis  that 
said  so,  though  he  knew  she  was  in  New  York." 

"But  what  motive  could  he  have  had  for  thus 
misrepresenting  matters?" 

"He  doesn't  want  you  to  take  her  back." 

"I  can't  believe  you,  Mrs.  Barnes.  He  loves  her, 
and  wants  to  marry  her." 

"He  couldn't  marry  her  if  she  consented  to  take 
him." 

"Why  not?  Mrs.  Barnes,  you  confuse  me." 

"I  won't  deceive  you  as  he  has  done.  There's 
rason  in  plinty.     He's  married  already." 

"Is  this  true?"  demanded  Mr.  Linden,  in  excite- 
ment. 

"It's  true  enough;  more  by  token,  to-morrow, 
whin  he's  out,  his  wife  will  come  here  and  tell  you 
so  herself." 

"But  who  are  you  who  seem  to  know  so  much 
about  my  family?" 

"I'm  a  friend  of  the  pore  girl  you've  driven  from 
the  house,  because  she  would  not  marry  a  rascally 
spalpeen  that's  been  schemin'  to  get  your  property 
into  his  hands." 


254  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"You're  a  friend  of  Florence?     Where  is  she?" 

"She's  in  my  house,  and  has  been  there  ever 
since  she  left  her  home." 

"Is  she— well?" 

"As  well  as  she  can  be  whin  she's  been  workin' 
her  fingers  to  the  bone  wid  sewin'  to  keep  from 
starvin'." 

"My  God!  what  have  I  done?" 

"You've  let  Curtis  Waring  wind  you  around  his 
little  finger — that's  what  you've  done,  Mr.  Lin- 
den." 

"How  soon  can  I  see  Florence?" 

"How  soon  can  you  bear  it?" 

"The  sooner  the  better." 

"Then  it'll  be  to-morrow,  I'm  thinkin',  that  is 
if  you  won't  tell  Curtis." 

"No,  no;  I  promise." 

"I'll  manage  everything,  sir.  Don't  worry  now." 

Mr.  Linden's  face  lost  its  anxious  look — so  that 
when,  later  in  the  day,  Curtis  looked  into  the  room 
he  was  surprised. 

"My  uncle  looks  better,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  nurse.  "I've  soothed 
him  like." 

"Indeed!  You  seem  to  be  a  very  accomplished 
nurse." 

"Faith,  that  I  am,  sir,  though  it  isn't  I  that  should 
say  it." 

"May  I  ask  how  you  soothed  him?"  inquired 
Curtis,  anxiously. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  255 

''I  told  him  that  Miss  Florence  would  soon  be 
home.'* 

"I  do  not  think  it  right  to  hold  out  hopes  that  may 
prove  ill-founded." 

"I  know  what  I  am  about,  Mr.  Curtis." 

^'I  dare  say  you  understand  your  business,  Mrs. 
Barnes,  but  if  my  uncle  should  be  disappointed,  I 
am  afraid  the  consequences  will  be  lamentable." 

''Do  you  think  he'll  live  long,  sir?" 

Curtis  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

'It  is  very  hard  to  tell.  My  uncle  is  a  very  fee- 
ble man." 

"And  if  he  dies,  I  suppose  the  property  goes  to 
you?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

"But  where  does  Florence  come  in?" 

"It  seems  to  me,  Mrs.  Barnes,  that  you  take  a 
good  deal  of  interest  in  our  family  affairs,"  said 
Curtis,  suspiciously. 

"That's  true,  sir.  Why  shouldn't  I  take  an  in- 
terest in  a  nice  gentleman  like  you?" 

Curtis  smiled. 

"I  am  doing  my  best  to  find  Florence.  Then  our 
marriage  will  take  place,  and  it  matters  little  to 
whom  the  property  is  left." 

"But  I  thought  Miss  Florence  didn't  care  to 
marry  you?" 

"It  is  only  because  she  thinks  cousins  ought  not 
to  marry.  It's  a  foolish  fancy,  and  she'll  get  over 
it." 


256  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"Thrue  for  you,  sir.  My  first  husband  was  m)' 
cousin,  and  we  always  agreed,  barrin'  an  occasional 
fight " 

'1  don't  think  Florence  and  I  will  ever  fight,  Mrs. 
Barnes." 

''What  surprises  me,  Mr.  Curtis,  is  that  a  nice- 
lookin'  gentleman  like  you  hasn't  been  married  be- 
fore." 

Curtis  eyed  her  keenly,  but  her  face  told  him 
nothing. 

''I  never  saw  one  I  wanted  to  marry  till  my  cousin 
grew  up,"  he  said. 

"I  belave  in  marryin',  meself.  I  was  first  mar- 
ried at  sivinteen." 

''How  long  ago  was  that,  Mrs.  Barnes?" 

"It's  long  ago,  Mr.  Curtis.  I'm  an  old  woman 
now.      I  was  thirty-five  last  birthday." 

Curtis  came  near  laughing  outright,  for  he  sus- 
pected— what  was  true — that  the  nurse  would  never 
see  her  fiftieth  birthday  again. 

"Then  you  are  just  my  age,"  he  said. 

"If  I  make  him  laugh  he  won't  suspect  nothing," 
soliloquized  the  wily  nurse.  "That's  a  pretty  big 
lie,  even  for  me." 

"Shure  I  look  older,  Mr.  Curtis,"  she  said,  aloud. 
"What  wid  the  worry  of  losin'  two  fond  husbands, 
I  look  much  older  than  you." 

"Oh,  your  are  very  well  preserved,  Mrs.  Barnes." 

Curtis  went  into  his  uncle's  chamber. 

"How  are  you  feeling,  uncle?"  he  asked. 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  257 

"I  think  I  am  better,"  answered  Mr.  Linden, 
coldly,  for  he  had  not  forgotten  Mrs.  Barnes'  reve- 
lations. 

"That  is  right.  Only  make  an  effort,  and  you 
will  soon  be  strong  again." 

"I  think  I  may.  I  may  live  ten  years  to  annoy 
you." 

*T  fervently  hope  so,"  said  Curtis,  but  there  was 
a  false  ring  in  his  voice  that  his  uncle  detected. 
"How  do  you  like  the  new  nurse?" 

"She  is  helping  me  wonderfully.  You  made  a 
good  selection." 

"I  will  see  that  she  is  soon  discharged,"  Curtis 
inwardly  resolved.  "If  her  being  here  is  to  pro- 
long my  uncle's  life,  and  keep  me  still  waiting  for 
the  estate,  I  must  clear  the  house  of  her." 

"You  must  not  allow  her  to  buoy  you  up  with 
unfounded  hopes.  She  has  been  telling  you  that 
Florence  will  soon  return." 

"Yes;  she  seems  convinced  of  it." 

"Of  course  she  knows  nothing  of  it.  She  may 
return,  but  I  doubt  whether  she  is  in  Chicago  now. 
I  think  the  family  she  was  with  has  gone  to  Eu- 
rope." 

"Where  did  you  hear  that,  Curtis?"  asked  Mr. 
Linden,  with  unwonted  sharpness. 

"I  have  sources  of  information  which  at  pres- 
ent I  do  not  care  to  impart.  Rest  assured  that  I 
am  doing  all  I  can  to  get  her  back." 

"You  still  want  to  marry  her,  Curtis?" 


258  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"I  do,  most  certainly." 

"I  shall  not  insist  upon  it.  I  should  not  have 
done  so  before." 

"Have  you  changed  your  mind,  uncle?'' 

"Yes;  I  have  made  a  mistake,  and  I  have  de- 
cided to  correct  it." 

"What  has  come  over  him?"  Curtis  asked  him- 
self. "Some  influence  hostile  to  me  has  been 
brought  to  bear.  It  must  be  that  nurse.  I  will 
quietly  dismiss  her  to-morrow,  paying  her  a  week's 
wages,  in  lieu  of  warning.  She's  evidently  a  med- 
dler/' 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  259 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 


THE   CLOSING   SCENE. 


The  next  day  Tim  Bolton,  dressed  in  a  jaunty 
style,  walked  up  the  steps  of  the  Linden  mansion. 

"Is  Mr.  Waring  at  home?"  he  asked. 

"No,  sir;  he  has  gone  downtown." 

*T11  step  in  and  wait  for  him.  Please  show  me 
to  the  library." 

Jane,  who  had  been  taken  into  confidence  by  the 
nurse,  showed  him  at  once  into  the  room  mentioned. 

Half  an  hour  later  Curtis  entered. 

"How  long  have  you  been  here,  Bolton?" 

"But  a  short  time.     You  sent  for  me?" 

"I  did." 

"On  business?". 

"Well,  yes." 

"Is  there  anything  new?" 

"Yes,  my  uncle  is  failing  fast.' 

"Is  he  likely  to  die  soon?" 

"I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  he  died  within  a 
week." 

"I  suspect  Curtis  means  to  help  him !  Well,  what 
has  that  to  do  with  me?"  he  asked.  "You  will  step 
into  the  property,  of  course?" 


26o  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"There  is  a  little  difficulty  in  the  way  which  I 
can  overcome  with  your  help." 

"What  is  it?" 

"I  can't  get  him  to  give  up  the  foolish  notion 
that  the  boy  he  lost  is  still  alive." 

"It  happens  to  be  true." 

"Yes;  but  he  must  not  know  it.  Before  he  dies 
I  want  him  to  make  a  new  will,  revoking  all  others, 
leaving  all  the  property  to  me." 

"Will  he  do  it?" 

"I  don't  know.  As  long  as  he  thinks  the  boy 
is  living,  I  don't  believe  he  will.  You  see  what 
a  drawback  that  is." 

"I  see.  What  can  I  do  to  improve  the  situa- 
tion?" 

"I  want  you  to  sign  a  paper  confessing  that  you 
abducted  the  boy " 

"At  your  instigation?" 

"That  must  not  be  mentioned.  You  will  go  on 
to  say  that  a  year  or  two  later — the  time  is  not  mate- 
rial— he  died  of  typhoid  fever.  You  can  say  that 
you  did  not  dare  to  reveal  this  before,  but  do  so 
now,  impelled  by  remorse." 

"Have  you  got  it  written  out?  I  can't  remem- 
ber all  them  words." 

"Yes;  here  it  is." 

"All  right,"  said  Bolton,  taking  the  paper  and 
tucking  it  into  an  inside  pocket.  "I'll  copy  it  out 
in  my  own  handwriting.  How  much  are  you  go- 
ing to  give  me  for  doing  this?" 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  261 

**A  thousand  dollars." 

''Cash?" 

"I  can't  do  that.  I  have  met  with  losses  at  the 
gaming  table,  and  I  don't  dare  ask  money  from 
my  uncle  at  this  time.  He  thinks  I  am  thoroughly 
steady." 

**At  how  much  do  you  value  the  estate?" 

''At  four  hundred  thousand  dollars.  I  wormed 
it  out  of  my  uncle's  lawyer  the  other  day." 

"And  you  expect  me  to  help  you  to  that  amount 
for  only  a  thousand  dollars?" 

"A  thousand  dollars  is  a  good  deal  of  money." 

"And  so  is  four  hundred  thousand.  After  all, 
your  uncle  may  not  die." 

"He  is  sure  to.'' 

"You  seem  very  confident." 

"And  with  good  reason.  Leave  that  to  me.  I 
promise  you,  on  my  honor,  to  pay  you  two  thou- 
sand dollars  when  I  get  the  estate." 

"But  what  is  going  to  happen  to  poor  Dodger, 
the  rightful  heir?" 

"Well,  let  it  be  three  hundred  dollars  a  year, 
then." 

"Where  is  he  now?" 

"I  don't  mind  telling  you,  as  it  can  do  no  narm. 
He  is  in  California." 

"Whew!  That  was  smart.  How  did  you  get 
him  there?" 

"I  drugged  him,  and  had  him  sent  on  board  a 
ship  bound  for  San  Francisco,  around  Cape  Horn. 


262  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

The  fact  is,  I  was  getting  a  little  suspicious  of  you, 
and  I  wanted  to  put  you  beyond  the  reach  of  tempta- 
tion." 

"You  are  a  clever  rascal,  Curtis.  After  all,  sup- 
pose the  prize  should  slip  through  your  fingers?" 

'It  won't.     I  have  taken  every  precaution." 

"When  do  you  want  this  document?" 

"Bring  it  back  to  me  this  afternoon,  copied  and 
signed.  That  is  all  you  have  to  do;  I  will  attend 
to  the  rest." 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on  there  were 
unseen  listeners. 

Behind  a  portiere  Mrs.  Barnes,  the  nurse,  and 
John  Linden  heard  every  word  that  was  said. 

"And  w^hat  do  you  think  now,  sir?"  whispered 
Mrs.  O'Keefe  (to  give  her  real  name). 

"It  is  terrible.  I  would  not  have  believed  Cur- 
tis capable  of  such  a  crime.  But  is  it  really  true, 
Mrs.  Barnes?     Is  my  lost  boy  alive?" 

"To  be  sure  he  is." 

"Have  you  seen  him?" 

"I  know  him  as  well  as  I  know  you,  sir,  and  bet- 
ter, too." 

"Is  he — tell  me,  is  he  a  good  boy?  Curtis  told 
me  that  he  might  be  a  criminal." 

"He  might,  but  he  isn't.  He's  as  dacent  and 
honest  a  boy  as  iver  trod  shoe  leather.  You'll  be 
proud  of  him,  sir." 

"But  he's  in  California." 

"He  was;  but  he's  got  back.     You  shall  see  him 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  263 

to-day,  and  Florence,  too.  Hark!  I  hear  the  door 
bell.  They're  here  now.  I  think  you  had  better 
go  in  and  confront  Curtis." 

"I  feel  weak,  Mrs.  Barnes.  Let  me  lean  on  you." 

"You  can 'do  that,  and  welcome;  sir." 

The  nurse  pushed  aside  the  portiere,  and  the  two 
entered  the  library — Mrs.  Barnes  rotund  and  smil- 
ing, Mr.  Linden  gaunt  and  spectral  looking,  like  one 
risen  from  the  grave. 

Curtis  eyed  the  pair  with  a  startled  look. 

*'Mrs.  Barnes,"  he  said,  angrily,  "what  do  you 
mean  by  taking  my  uncle  from  his  bed  and  bring- 
ing him  down  here?  It  is  as  much  as  his  life  is 
worth.  You  seem  unfit  for  your  duties  as  nurse. 
You  will  leave  the  house  to-morrow,  and  I  will 
engage  a  substitute." 

"I  shall  lave  whin  I  git  ready,  Mr.  Curtis  War- 
ing," said  the  nurse,  her  arms  akimbo.  "Maybe 
somebody  else  will  lave  the  house.  Me  and  Mr. 
Linden  have  been  behind  the  curtain  for  twenty 
minutes,  and  he  has  heard  every  word  you  said." 

Curtis  turned  livid,  and  his  heart  sank. 

"It's  true,  Curtis,"  said  John  Linden's  hollow 
voice.  "I  have  heard  all.  It  was  you  who  ab- 
ducted my  boy,  and  have  made  my  life  a  lonely  one 
all  these  years.  Oh,  man!  man!  how  could  you 
have  the  heart  to  do  it?" 

Curtis  stared  at  him  with  parched  lips,  unable 
to  speak. 

"Not  content  with  this,  you  drove  from*  the  house 


264  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

my  dear  niece,  Florence.  You  made  me  act  cruelly 
toward  her.     I  fear  she  will  not  forgive  me." 

But  just  then  the  door  opened,  and  Florence, 
rushing  into  the  room,  sank  at  her  uncle's  feet. 

*'0h,  uncle,"  she  said,  "will  you  take  me  back?" 

"Yes,  Florence,  never  again  to  leave  me.  And 
who  is  this?"  he  asked,  fixing  his  eyes  on  Dodger, 
who  stood  shyly  in  the  doorway. 

"I'll  tell  you,  sir,"  said  Tim  Bolton.  "That  is 
your  own  son,  whom  I  stole  away  from  you  when 
he  was  a  kid,  being  hired  to  do  it  by  Curtis  War- 
ing." 

"It's  a  lie,"  said  Curtis,  hoarsely. 

"Come  to  me,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  Linden,  with  a 
glad  light  in  his  eyes. 

"At  last  Heaven  has  heard  my  prayers,"  he  ejac- 
ulated. "We  will  never  be  separated.  I  was  ready 
to  die,  but  now  I  hope  to  live  for  many  years.  I 
feel  that  I  have  a  new  lease  of  life." 

With  a  baffled  growl  Curtis  Waring  darted  a  fu- 
rious look  at  the  three. 

"That  boy  is  an  impostor,"  he  said.  "They  are 
deceiving  you." 

"He  is  my  son.  I  see  his  mother's  look  in  his 
face.  As  for  you,  Curtis  Waring,  my  eyes  are 
open  at  last  to  your  villainy.  You  deserve  nothing 
at  my  hands;  but  I  will  make  some  provision  for 
you." 

There  was  another  surprise. 

Curtis    Waring's    deserted    wife,    brought    from 


ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK.  265 

California  by  Dodger,  entered  the  room,  leading 
by  the  hand  a  young  child. 

''Oh,  Curtis,"  she  said,  reproachfully.  "How 
could  you  leave  me  ?  I  have  come  to  you,  my  hus- 
band, with  our  little  child." 

''Begone!  woman!"  said  Curtis,  furiously.  "I 
will  never  receive  or  recognize  you !" 

"Oh,  sir !"  she  said,  turning  to  Mr.  Linden,  "what 
shall  I  do?" 

"Curtis  Waring,"  said  Mr.  Linden,  sternly,  "un- 
less you  receive  this  woman  and  treat  her  prop- 
erly, you  shall  receive  nothing  from  me." 

"And  if  I  do?" 

"You  will  receive  an  income  of  two  thousand  dol- 
lars a  year,  payable  quarterly.  Mrs.  Waring,  you 
will  remain  here  with  your  child  till  your  husband 
provides  another  home  for  you." 

Curtis  slunk  out  of  the  room,  but  he  was  too  wise 
to  refuse  his  uncle's  offer. 

He  and  his  wife  are  living  in  Chicago,  and  he 
treats  her  fairly  well,  fearing  that,  otherwise,  he 
will  lose  his  income. 

Mr.  Linden  looks  ten  years  younger  than  he  did 
at  the  opening  of  the  story. 

Florence  and  Dodger — now  known  as  Harvey 
Linden — live  with  him. 

Dodger,  under  a  competent  private  tutor,  is  mak- 
ing up  the  deficiencies  in  his  education. 

It  is  early  yet  to  speak  of  marriage,  but  it  is  pos- 
sible that  Florence  may  marry  a  cousin,  after  all. 


266  ADRIFT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

Tim  Bolton  has  turned  over  a  new  leaf,  given 
up  his  saloon,  and  is  carrying  on  a  country  hotel 
within  fifty  miles  of  New  York. 

He  has  five  thousand  dollars  in  the  bank,  pre- 
sented by  Dodger,  with  his  father's  sanction,  and  is 
considered  quite  a  reputable  citizen. 

As  for  Mrs.  O'Keefe,  she  still  keeps  the  apple- 
stand,  being  unwilling  to  give  it  up;  but  she,  too, 
has  a  handsome  sum  in  the  bank,  and  calls  often 
upon  her  two  children,  as  she  calls  them. 

In  the  midst  of  their  prosperity  Florence  and 
Dodger  will  never  forget  the  time  when  they  were 
adrift  in  New  York. 


THE  END. 


A.  L,  Burt's  Catalogue  of  Books  for 
Young  People  by  Popular  Writers,  52- 
58  Duane  Street,  New  York   ><   ^<    >« 


BOOKS  FOR  BOYS. 

Joe's  Luck:    A  Boy^s  Adventures  in  California.    By 

Horatio  Alger,  Jr.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

The  story  is  chock  fall  of  stirring  incidents,  while  the  amusina:  situ- 
ations are  furnished  by  Joshua  Bickford,  from  Pumpkin  Eollow,  and  the 
fellow  who  modestly  styles  himself  the  "Rip-tail  Roarer,  from  Pike  Co., 
Missouri."  Mr.  Alger  never  writes  a  poor  book,  and  "Joe's  Luck"  is  cer- 
tainly one  of  his  best. 

Tom  the   Bootblack;  or,   The  Koad  to   Success.     By 

Horatio  Alger,  Jr.    ISmo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

A  bright,  enterprising  lad  was  Tom  the  Bootblack.  He  was  not  at  all 
ashamed  of  his  humble  calling,  though  always  on  the  lookout  to  better 
himself.  The  lad  started  for  Cincinnati  to  look  up  his  heritage.  Mr. 
Grey,  the  uncle,  did  not  hesitate  to  employ  a  ruflSan  to  kill  the  lad.  The 
plan  failed,  and  Gilbert  Grey,  once  Tom  the  bootblack,  came  into  a  com- 
fortable  fortune.     This   is  one   of   Mr.    Alger's   best   stories. 

Dan  the  Newsboy.    By   Horatio   Alger^   Jr.    13mo, 

cloth,  illustrated,  price  SI. 00. 

Dan  Mordaunt  and  his  mother  live  in  a  poor  tenement,  and  the  lad  Is 
pluckily  trying  to  make  ends  meet  by  selling  papers  in  the  streets  of  New 
York.  A  little  heiress  of  six  years  is  confided  to  the  care  of  the  Mor- 
daunts.  The  child  is  kidnapped  and  Dan  tracks  the  child  to  the  house 
where  she  is  hidden,  and  rescues  her.  The  wealthy  aunt  of  the  little 
heiress  is  so  delighted  with  Dan's  courage  and  many  good  qualities 
that   she    adopts   him    as   her   heir. 

Tony  the  Hero:     A    Brave    Boy's    Adventure  with  a 

Tramp.    By  Horatio  Alger,  Jr.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  §1.00. 

Tony,  a  sturdy  bright-eyed  boy  of  fourteen,  is  under  the  control  of 
Rudolph  Rugg,  a  thorough  rascal.  After  much  abuse  Tony  runs  away 
and  gets  a  job  as  stable  boy  in  a  country  hotel.  Tony  is  heir  to  a 
large  estate.  Rudolph  for  a  consideration  hunts  up  Tony  and  throws 
him  down  a  deep  well.  Of  course  Tony  escapes  from  the  fate  provided 
for  him,  and  by  a  brave  act,  a  rich  friend  secures  his  rights  and  Tony 
is    prosperous.     A    very    entertaining    book. 

The  Errand  Boy;  or,  How  Phil  Brent  Won  Success. 

By  Horatio  Alger,  Jr.    12mo,-  cloth  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

The  career  of  "The  Errand  Boy"  embraces  the  city  adventures  of  a 
smart  country  lad.  Philip  was  brought  up  by  a  kind-hearted  iankeepe*- 
oamed  Brent.  The  death  of  Mrs.  Brent  paved  the  way  for  the  hero's 
subsequent  troubles.  A  retired  merchant  in  New  York  secures  him  the 
situation   of   errand   boy,    and   thereafter   stands   as   his   friend. 

Tom  Temple's  Career.    By  Horatio  Alger,  Jr.     12mo, 

cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

Tom  Temple  is  a  bright,  self-reliant  lad.  He  leaves  Plympton  village 
to  seek  work  in  New  York,  whence  he  undertakes  aa  important  mission 
to  California.  Some  of  his  adventures  in  the  far  west  are  so  startling  that 
the  reader  will  scarcely  close  the  book  until  the  last  page  shall  have  beeu 
reached.     The  tale  is  written  in  Mr.  Alger's  most  fascinating  style. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,  A.  L.  BTJBT,   68-58  Suane  Street,  New  Yoi^. 


2  A.  L.  BURT^S  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE. 

BOOKS  FOR  BOYS. 

Frank  Fowler,  the  Cash  Boy.    By  Horatio  Alger,  Jr. 

12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  SI. 00, 

Frank  Fowler,  a  poor  boy,  bravely  determines  to  make  a  living  for 
himself  and  his  foster-sister  Grace.  Going  to  New  York  he  obtains  a 
situation  as  cash  boy  in  a  dry  goods  store.  He  renders  a  service  to  a 
wealthy  old  gentleman  who  takes  a  fancy  to  the  lad,  and  thereafter 
helps    the    lad    to    gain    success    and    fortune. 

Tom  Thatcher's   Fortune.     By   Horatio    Algee^  Jr. 

12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  81.00. 

Tom  Thatcher  is  a  brave,  ambitious,  unselfish  boy.  He  supports  his 
mother  and  sister  on  meagre  wages  earned  as  a  shoe-pegger  in  John 
Simpson's  factory.  Tom  is  discharged  from  the  factory  and  starts  over- 
land for  California.  He  meets  with  many  adventures.  The  story  is  told 
in  a  way  which  has  made  Mr.  Alger's  name  a  household  word  in  so  many 
homes. 

The  Train    Boy.    By    Horatio    Alger,    Jr.     12mo, 

cloth,  illustrated,  price  Si. 00. 

Paul  Palmer  was  a  wide-awake  boy  of  sixteen  who  supported  his  mother 
and  sister  by  selling  books  and  papers  on  the  Chicago  and  Milwaukee 
Railroad.  He  detects  a  young  man  in  the  act  of  picking  the  pocket  of  a 
young  lady.  In  a  railway  accident  many  passengers  are  killed,  but  Paul 
is  fortunate  enough  to  assist  a  Chicago  merchant,  who  out  of  gratitude 
takes  him  into  his  employ.  Paul  succeeds  with  tact  and  judgment  and 
is   well   started   on   the   road   to   business  prominence. 

Mark  Mason's  Victory.     The  Trials  and  Triumphs  of 

a  Telegraph  Boy.    By  Horatio  Alqeb,  Jr.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price 

$1.00. 

Mark  Mason,  the  telegraph  boy,  was  a  sturdy,  honest  lad,  who  plucklly 
won  hii  way  to  success  by  his  honest  manly  efforts  under  many  diffi- 
culties. This  story  will  please  the  very  large  class  of  boys  who  regard 
Mr.    Alger   as   a    favorite   author. 

A  Debt  of  Honor.     The  Story  of  Gerald  Lane's  Success 

in  the  Far  West.    By  Horatio  Alger,  Jr.     13mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price 

551.00. 

The  story  of  Gerald  Lane  and  the  account  of  the  many  trials  and  dis- 
appointments which  be  passed  through  befoi  he  attained  success,  will 
Interest  all  boys  who  have  read  the  previous  stories  of  this  delightful 
author. 

Ben  Bruce,     Scenes  in  the  Life  of  a  Bowery  Newsboy. 

By  Horatio  Algkr,  Jr.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

Ben  Bruce  was  a  brave,  manly,  generous  boy.  The  story  of  his  efforts, 
and  many  seeming  failures  and  disappointments,  and  his  final  success,  are 
most  interesting  to  all  readers.  The  tale  is  written  in  Mr.  Alger's 
most  fascinating  style. 

The  Castaways;  or,  On  the  Florida  Reefs.     By  James 

Otis.    12rao,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

This  tale  smacks  of  the  salt  sea.  From  the  moment  that  the  Sea 
Queen  leaves  lower  New  York  bay  till  the  breeze  leaves  her  lK*calraed  off 
the  coast  of  Florida,  one  can  almost  hear  the  whistle  of  the  wind 
through  her  rigging,  the  creak  of  her  straining  cordage  as  she  heels  to 
the  leeward.  The  adventures  of  Ben  Clark,  the  hero  of  the  storv  and 
Jake  the  cook,  cannot  fail  to  charm  the  reader.  As  a  writer  for  younff 
people    Mr.    Otis    is    a    prime    favorite. 

For  sale  by  all  book.sellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  tii'l- 
"uWlsher,   A.   L.   BURT,   62-68  Duane  Street,   New  York. 


.   ^'  Y^^ 


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